


Tale of Tomahna

by Musica



Category: Aion (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 10:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 37,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20062816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musica/pseuds/Musica
Summary: Tomahna recounts her immortal life and her experience with the plight of Atreia, from ascension to the twists and turns Aion has set in her path that keep bringing her back to the same Asmodian. An experiment with first person narrative.





	1. Life Begins Again

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2010 and it still remains dear to my heart. This is set in the world of Aion, a Korean MMO that I started playing November 2009. It's a beautiful game that is dependent on the interaction of communities. You play as either Elyos (white wings) or Asmodian (black wings) in a three way battle. The story is not elaborate since the ultimate goal of the game is player-vs-player. This might be a difficult story to understand in its entirety if you do not know the game, and for that I apologize, but the story outweighs the game after a few chapters. Any terms or questions you have can be posted in comments. I have tried to incorporate a fair portion of the game while I spin this tale, both to flush out the story and for the entertainment of other daeva. The few named characters have been based off of friends that I made on my original server and some events are also taken from interactions I have seen or been part of. Some of the quests were well written that I have included a relevant quote at the start of each chapter. I did cheat once or twice and use a quote from another source but I don't think anyone will mind.
> 
> I was inspired to begin this story one train ride after I read the introduction to The Red Tent while listening to Aion music. The whole book is told in first person, something I had never written before. The first seven pages appeared and I liked the rough draft enough to continue writing. I set several challenges for myself. The first, keeping the story in first person. This did sacrifice a lot of detail since the main character would not always know what other characters thought, but I am ok with what I left out. Second, to complete the story within a year. Third, to name only as many characters as needed, using names in relation to the first computer game I ever played. I cheated and used some NPCs from Aion but on the whole I succeeded at this one. Brownie points to anyone that can recognize that game without using Google. My fourth challenge appeared later, and in the spirit of trying new things I made the story a little darker than originally intended.
> 
> Random fact: 18 is the value associated with life, and there are 18 chapters.
> 
> I would like to thank Bladesworn for her Aion story since I draw inspiration from her creativity with The Lay of the Broken Winged Sparrow. She has yet to complete the story but it remains my most favorite story to this day.

* * *

_"Stories are just words, and words have no power. So give me your story young one."_

* * *

When your story is so large it clouds your own mind, it is best to start at the very beginning.

My ascension was well into the war. My father was a daeva, but my mother still human. It did not affect their marriage until I was older and the question of my potential immortality surfaced. After much arguing, my parents came to terms with what they knew would happen between the two, daeva and mortal. It was then my father seemed old to me, crying silently as he commented that her lifetime, their time together, was nothing more than a blink in his eye. My ascension and welcome into Aion's graces came at the age of twenty three, the age I will remain forever until the day I fade, if ever. Daevas don't count years after ascension, merely the number of enemies they have slain and friends lost eternally.

Life as a daeva is quite different from the life my mother led, but perhaps it was lucky they chose to live in Verteron, the sunburst citadel where winged immortals interacted with humankind on a daily basis. Soldiers greeted me, helped me to learn wind gales and eddies, how to morph the aether that now flowed in my veins and would mix with my blood. Healing became my call, my hand echoing that of Lady Yustiel, Empyrean lord of life. A cleric, a treasured friend on the battle field, I was trained relentlessly on shield holding, staff spinning, and mace strikes. Daevas of any age would spar with me, try to distract me to build my concentration that my prayer of healing would still take flight if I were under stress or attack. I was outfitted in chain mail, a light but sturdy armor to protect the one who protected all. Knights clad in full plate would make themselves known to me. Templar and cleric - the most ancient and prized relationship as they defend each other no matter what.

The first real battle I ever took part in was culling krall near the Cantas Coast. It's a lovely place filled with sunshine and clear water. The trees breathe clean air and the sand sparkles. It was there I learned the heat of battle and the need for focus. My templar did well, keeping me safe from those that tried to attack me. My armor needed very little repairs. The best lesson I learned was how to focus when my own leg might be broken. Praise Aion for chanters, fighters blessed with a healing touch, to get me through those first few injuries that I could continue healing the entire party. Life as a daeva is fast learning, which I would need for future when both the templar and myself are under heavy damage.

Orders came from Sanctum, floating capitol of Elysea, and I was moved to Eltnen to continue my training. Inside the bustling fortress, I heard daily reports about Asmodians that I might cross paths with. The first few months were spent visiting all of the major locations that I might be deported to, learning my superiors and helping on small projects. The most notable of my achievements was helping to rescue an engineer from the Lepharists, radical humans who oppose Aion’s chosen. The daevas in my party were far older than me, having lived decades if not centuries more in this newfound life. I would forget most of them, as I'm sure they have long forgotten me, but I still learned my steadfast nature beside them. A cleric cannot look weak to their own group lest they worry if the healing aether will come. Once again I took support from a chanter, but mostly in the knowledge of precaution. They told me I would be a fine healer.

My father would check on me from time to time, but when you stop measuring the days, it was any length of weeks before I would see him again. He used to write me constantly, inquiring about my new life and asking if I ever missed mortality. My mother and I grew more distant since I was under orders from the capitol, a fact of which made me grieve but in the end was for the best. Her death hurt but was more removed than had I stayed in Verteron. Many daevas that I spoke to said they knew the pain of losing a mortal parent, more often than not both, but that I would learn to cope with the loss. Interaction with humans was a little more limited in Eltnen, but I did learn the wisdom of time as they aged years when I felt only a few weeks pass. Aether does not heal mortals as it does daevas, but I helped where I could, easing the pain for villagers that I had seen as children just the other day.

My first love was a brief thing, some ranger that I grouped with. He was lean with unruly hair, and his smile would capture your attention such that you would forget you had been talking. We would picnic in the forest, kiss and caress under the sun's light. I took things slow, but he asked more than I was willing to give and so it ended. I thought he would be angry with me but perhaps he was more mature than I gave him credit for. He smiled at me a few days later and moved on. I have not seen him recently, but I know it would be pleasant to see him smile again.

My second love was with the armor smith I met in Sanctum. I sought him out originally because of the quality of his chain. Other clerics and chanters swore by his craft. He was very funny, easy to talk to and always had something interesting to tell you. From the moment he measured me for my armor, I liked him. I would see him around the city, walk with him while we spoke about anything that came up. I found out he was a few centuries older than myself, a former templar who had fallen in love with a human like my mother. He cherished her brief presence in his life so much that he swore never to take another lover to his bed. That did not prevent him from lewd comments or wonton looks and our conversation was often flirting, but he kept his hands to himself. I fell in love with him in a way that was both as a friend and a lover because, as much as I envied this mortal woman who took his heart to the grave, I respected him for self discipline. Any lovers I took after that point were aware that I cared for him and, if they grew jealous or angry over playful banter, I lost interest in them for not being mature enough.

I learned to feel the same pangs of jealousy. My third lover was a talented assassin. His body was made more perfect by scars, if that is conceivable to you. It was with him that I learned to explore passion to its fullest, letting him work clever fingers and explore all he wanted. I had the emotional relationship with the armor smith and the lustful end with the assassin, which he was accepting of. He wasn't looking for a woman to spend eternity with, so he took a second lover. I grew irritated when he asked if I would take part with her, mostly because he had the audacity to ask more than once. Sharing bodies with one person was a celebration of the bond, but to spend those intimate moments with two people at once, and one you did not know at all, felt like a diminishing return. He grew more cold to me from then on, and she was nothing short of a worg on hind legs, so I felt little remorse when we stopped meeting in the night.

The first Asmodian I met was a spirit master. His wind pet barreled into me so fast and sudden I was confused about what had happened. Training took over and I was healing myself before I fully understood his presence. Every mace hit to the beast felt like a crime in retrospect but I know that it was the only response since it attacked me first. I rooted it and went after him, and while he was a faster runner, my spells hit harder. I would have won had the root not broken and the pet knocked me down. That fight was also my first death. It was incredibly painful, fire ripping into me until my obelisk pulled me back to the fortress. I almost didn't recall his hand on my cheek through the agony.

My first legion was very small, a wing that accompanied a much larger force. The Sun's Envoy was very amiable, and we were formidable on the field. We would line up shoulder to shoulder with our red and gold capes draped over one side, fastened with a sunburst clasp. My brigade general would lead us around the desert in search of Asmodians. I was usually the first target since I hung in the back to heal. Teamwork was essential, as well as instinct. My templar had to protect me, the sorcerer had to deal with any extra interference, the ranger had to silence their casters, the assassin targeted their healer. Chess with live pieces is a much faster game, though you take more turns. We saw that dark winged spirit master a few times. The first my legion met him, he looked at me directly while being killed. Our gladiator never let me live it down, jeering and saying I had a not-so-secret admirer. Perhaps she was jealous, but she had no right to be with eyes and hair a stunning purple. The spirit master always looked at me if we crossed paths, so I took the gladiator at her words, and then dismissed them. He was Asmodian, and I Elyos. Our fates were already cast in battle the day of my ascension.

I will never forget the first day I went to Heiron. Eltnen was beautiful, but this was a place to revere. The hills practically sang of ancient glory and the beasts were vicious. I took delight in gliding over the ruins and walking near the observatory. I think the Asmodians thought it was beautiful, too, because I would see them pause to take a moment sometimes before they would catch sight of me.

Very rarely did I ever hope to see their dark faces. It was easy for me to think and focus in a group, but Asmodians often found me when I was alone. The worst ones were those that jeered and toyed with you, laughing at your pain when I don't think I could ever rejoice in theirs. Perhaps I should have learned to be more alert when walking alone, but my mind only truly stays in place when there are people for me to protect. You would think protecting yourself would count when it comes to frequent visits to your local soul healer.

There was one particularly bad day, when my brigade general said I would be moved to a different legion. I asked why because I had never encountered their centurions or their brigade, the response to which was that I was a cause on tension in my own legion. Shock was the initial response, followed by anger when I found he was sleeping with the purple-headed gladiator. Clearly, she hated me for something and I hadn't the faintest. I went looking for Asmodians that day and who did I meet but that same spirit master. Wind spirit must have been his favorite because it was padding along beside him when I cast my first blow. I attacked him with such a fury that I might have shown promise as a solo fighter. I swung, rooted, blocked, healed, rooted again. I tripped him repeatedly so that he could not run and attack me in the same breath. The wind spirit latched onto my main hand but I was so angry I let go of my mace, slipped out of my gauntlet and punched the spirit master outright. Tears were streaming down my face in frustration that perhaps he figured it out because the pet stopped trying to tear my throat. It knocked me down and pinned me more easily than I would give a wind spirit credit for. No more casts came my way and the spirit never attacked despite its growled threats. I was left to cry my eyes out, pinned beneath a dark wind servant while its master sat nearby and rested. My fingers caught wisps of air off the pet, and I slowly began to stroke it from my restricted position. Harsh words were spoken so gently that I strained to understand my enemy. The weight lifted, and the spirit stood guard with my mace in jaw. It was very strange though it made sense at the time, to sit and finish my crying with this Asmodian for company. He moved to sit by me, I put my head on his shoulder, and he stroked my hair. We sat like that for a while; even the spirit came to rest at our feet where I could pet it. The slightest noise set us off because a person of either side would break the truce. We exchanged names - his was Voltaic. His eyes expressed the concern that hundreds of years and divergent languages could not, and I picked at his legion cape so that he would notice the lack of mine. He kissed me gently on the mouth and returned back to his half of the world. And thus became an infrequent friend and eventual lover.


	2. As A Bloodwing

* * *

_"Answers easily found may seem sweet, but that sweetness will dry up the spring of your wisdom."_

* * *

My new legion was welcome and in desperate need of healers though they scrutinized my skill endlessly until it was to their liking. I was given a new cape, a beautiful white that had to be cleaned regularly, emblazoned with red wings. My brigade sent us into the abyss frequently, mapping out patrols around our fortresses and artifacts followed by information gatherings on the others. Even if they were not the warmest of groups, Bloodwings was formidable and rushed headfirst into battle. Asmodians would aim for me first regardless if I was with my legion or random Elyos. Those red wings on my cape were enough. Only the best templars would group with me because they knew I would be hard to protect.

A gladiator in Bloodwings took an interest in me, making it a point to sit with me at most every meal and protect me if the templar could not. If there was dancing at the tavern, he would drag me to my feet and force me to dance against my will. I laughed out of embarrassment. He thought it was flirting and tried to kiss me. It felt wrong, but I let him, instead telling him I wasn't sure how I felt. The gladiator didn't stop trying to win me over, massaging my back and stroking my hair on particularly bad days.

In massing to take Kysis Fortress, I was grouped with my former legion mates. I got to see my old brigade general Edd and the purple-haired fox argue. He didn't bat an eyelash when she took a serious blow that sent her back to the kisk. She said that I didn't heal her enough. He kicked her from the alliance for diverting his attention and mine during a raid. I think I understood then that perhaps his like for me or my post in his priorities was comparable to hers and that was the source of her spite.

Patrolling with my legion a week later, we were attacked from above. I was hit with a sleep spell right away so it was quite sudden to me to wake up in the heat of battle. It was all I could do to heal my party before I was sent back to my obelisk. One thing was very clear, though. Voltaic was there. I didn't release from my body just yet, but hovered there to watch him as he fought my allies. In the briefest moment, he brushed my wing gently. Death doesn't hurt when you're a daeva. It's the initial pain and then a detached nature until you release back to wherever you bound. I couldn't feel his touch, but I saw it and knew he was sorry, too. Our friendship would be tempered because anytime we met would end in at least one of our deaths.

When I released back to Teminon Fortress, I found a letter on my person that he must have slipped to me from his tome. It was in elegant writing but in a language I could only read. The meaning behind those words was lost on me though some words were familiar through Elyan. In my spare time, in my room or relaxing by the fountain, I would pour over it and try to decipher his letter. The parchment was tearing a bit and creased unattractively from hiding it so much, but his handwriting was intact. I had a small notebook I scribbled in, attempting to translate phrases based off of what I assumed I understood. There were translators in Sanctum, but taking a note like this could reveal information that perhaps other Elyos should not be privy to. Enlisting myself in a course on Asmodian tongue would also enlist my services if they needed a translator for negotiations, interrogations, or intelligence gathering. That list would also affect my time with legion since it was a sought-after skill. I toyed with the idea of it but in the end kept deciphering the message on my own. It wasn't like I had to send a response the next day - we have all eternity so long as we don't fade. His letter made more sense by the day and I filled in what made sense until I had millions of possibilities. In the end, my heart chose which to believe was the translation.

> _Tomahna, white daeva. I cry knowing that you have suffered pain to be reading my note. It is sad that you and I are enemies. I never forgot you back in Eltnen because you looked peaceful, scared and then sad, but never angry. It hurts me to hope to see you again, to fight you again. Thinking of you is bittersweet. Why must your wings be white and not black? I meet many Elyos, but you are the only one I remember. I pray to Aion for a truce that I might know you, speak to you in some way._

Every time I met an Asmodian, the words begged flight from my lips, to ask his name and see if they knew him, but that would tell my legion that I held a dark, intolerable secret. Wind spirits came at my heels on a regular basis, but none showed recognition or sadness as I struck them. My concentration would falter if I thought I saw him or heard his voice, which often led to someone in my party saving me. The chanter, usually, or the sorcerer. They would speak to me, tell me to get my soul back in my body that I might do my job. Brigade general Relee had to hear, of course, as nothing was ever left out in mission reports. He spoke to me, too. Perhaps this was a dangerous path to take but he was my brigade and he asked directly what it was that got in my head during those fights. In vague terms, I told him there was an Asmodian I knew from frequent encounters, that we had something of a friendship in that we sought each other out in battle. Whether my leader pieced it together then or thought of this as a challenge between opposing daevas I am not certain, but he let it go and never told anyone else. I could have taken that angle when asking for him on the battlefield, to be angry when I said his name, but that would feel wrong. I tried to say it in an angry whisper but my eyes teared up instead. Later reason came to me - gossip is a wildfire that often starts with an innocent intention and spreads beyond any control. Gossip about an Elyos seeking out an Asmodian would call attention to us on an abyssal scale. People would ask me why; people would ask him, too. If we did run into each other, we would be watched. Any hope to touch his wing or face would be counted and measured as affection and I would lose the façade of a long spoken enmity.

On a whim, I went rifting to Beluslan. Empty and cold, covered in snow, but majestic in its quiet. Strange versions of beasts I knew roamed the snowy fields and new plants sprouted up through sheer tenacity. Guards were stationed at many crossroads and every town I ever saw was fortified to the teeth. I don't recall seeing this many obstacles in Heiron, but then again, I never had to look at them as obstacles. Very few Asmodians were out in that cold land, but word does spread and the few we killed came back with friends until we were sent back to our sunny half. Perhaps it's silly for immortals to fight like this. Mortals end their scuffle, have a finality to it because once one is dead, it's over and there is no bringing them back, but I died so many times just to see the same Asmodians and their deaths. Why would the Seraphim and Shedim lords continue this war if we're all immortal? I figured this out when the templar from my first legion was lost, eternally. It was sudden news. Only Aion knows why each daeva fades, but my suspicion is that they lose the will to fight. We ascend for the sole reason to fight this war, to protect our homeland, friends, and way of life no matter how they change. There is a grudge between the Light and Shadow Courts, a history that should never be forgotten but, in my own opinion, should be forgiven and put in the past. I truly am old at this point if I have come to the realization that I would never have chosen immortality had I been told it would only be to fight the same people over and over again. Forts bounced between ownership and the missions I completed never truly ended. I came to hate abyss patrols just because I hated fighting Asmodians, people who used to be our brothers and sisters. Each face I see, I wonder, would I have loved you, would we have laughed as friends or hated each other as rivals for something that mattered in a mortal life? Fear gripped my heart that I, too, would lose the will to live forever with each death until, at last, I never returned to my obelisk. This fear of finality gripped me, and I knew again some sense of mortality.


	3. Fight Against the Scale

* * *

_"If you can, in this mad, fast paced world, try to form your own opinions."_

* * *

I found my answer for immortality in the fight against the balaur. I knew the reason to hate them, to know that they caused the Cataclysm in the first place by their want of power. They shirked their role of guardians for the addiction of dictatorship. It is easy to understand the Asmodians because we used to be the same race, but to understand something that was never really one of you is harder. Intelligence gathers every little bit of information in the hopes we can learn something about them or their leaders, their plans to attack, of outposts and new weapons. My efforts went into that war. Thank Aion for never granting them immortality because once they died, it was over. This would be a large, almost unfair advantage for us daevas, except they have only gotten stronger and breed faster. It's the strongest ones we cannot kill so they are the ones who breed. We defeat ourselves, there, by making it easier for the females to select the best mate and thereby spawn worse adversaries. That's the challenge - a race against time and numbers. If we could kill them all, it would be over with only the Asmodians for conflict. Dreams would take hold of me, daytime wishes that the balaur were gone and the two sides would fight until we all acknowledged it futile and made amends. I knew it was foolish thinking, but dreams are you own to do whatever you please, and it consoled me.

The balaur's most awesome weapon against us are the dredgions, great ships to transport their troops since only their ancient lords can still fly. Each ship was the same, and if one went down, whoever their dragon lord was did not care because the other ships were never any better. I started to go on infiltration missions, submitting my ballot and waiting for assignment. As cleric, I was always selected to take a spot in the six-man groups. Some groups were very efficient and we killed their captain within an hour, but other groups failed to cooperate. I still got what information I could. The ships were the same but sometimes the captain or another balaur officer had something Sanctum would be interested in. The Asmodians probably knew this, too, because we would often see them on board. It became a three way battle since neither side would suggest cooperation. One team could take down a ship - why bother? Sometimes we got in each other's way so much the balaur would win. This is when I would wonder more of why we couldn't get along, why this long, drawn out bitterness was held fast. In fighting each other, the balaur win. I know my place, though, and any suggestion that I was a furback lover would earn me scorn and break ties.

I was with five of my legionmates one dredgion when it happened. We were engaging in a room in an attempt to rescue a prisoner when fear gripped me so strongly I bolted back the way we'd come. It was not a natural fear, but implanted. The Asmodian team had set upon us and by the time I got my sense about me again, we were locked to the hilt. One by one, someone in my group would give their life to take an Asmodian down. In the total chaos, the laughable happened - two who should have been among the first to die were left and who should it be but Voltaic. His wind pet bounded at me from the unreleased corpse of my templar, fangs flashing, and I found myself knocked out of the way of a balaur. The battle was not over, but now it was one white and one black versus the scale. I rooted the monsters that snuck behind him, blasted them with a curse on my lips as he did the same, pet slashing them down and spells burning them up. I saved his life and helped him to his feet only to receive two dagger stabs in the back. My hearing cut off the second part of my name as he cried it, and I was pulled back to the kisk at our entrance to the ship. My group was waiting for me, puzzled expressions about why I had survived so long without them. The templar did not wait for explanations but charged ahead to finish the mission. In the next scuffle, I found myself pulled directly to their templar, eyes glowing red through the slit in his helmet. I was strangled but not to the point of death. Voltaic was behind him and forced to watch. He and his team yelled at each other, my team confused enough to pause mid battle. More angry words, a plated gauntlet passed suggestively over my breast and down my hauberk to my greaves. Voltaic cried out in unison with my gladiator, but my ally did not move and my Asmodian friend was restrained as I was punched, dropped to the ground and felt claws working at my pants. I don't know what happened after that. It was a flurry of arrows and spells, but the templar was pulled off me by my own leader. I was killed fast. The mission was a failure.

Even after we ported home, I was beaten. My templar punched me in the jaw, the ranger swore her head off, the sorcerer spat at my feet, the gladiator ignored me entirely. The brigade general was told immediately and in front of the centurions. My brigade is a terrifying beast when he wants to be, small and dangerous that his eyes might as well have that crimson glow. I was interrogated about everything, from Voltaic's aid in the prisoner room back to the first time I ever saw him. The whole of it was uncomfortable and embarrassing; the aether drained from my face as my templar recounted my potential rape and flooded hotly back as I had to reiterate where and how the Asmodian touched me. That encounter and my truce with Voltaic earned a lot of questions but the one that interested my brigade the most was the time just before I joined legion, the time I cried and sat with the spirit master and learned his name. My templar, trusted friend on the battlefield, was shocked at my own history and that he was not informed of it by either myself or the brigade general. In his face, I saw revulsion and loss of trust and I knew he would never trust me on the field again, much less be my friend. His broad back walked out the door, never to come back. The brigade general apologized in a strict voice and informed me that I would be leaving legion on either my terms or his. This incident would be on my record if I ever applied to infiltrate a dredgion again, and any legion I was invited to would be informed that I had consorted with an Asmodian enough to jeopardize my team and assignment. I turned in my cape, the grayed fabric with red wings, and packed my few things. No one said good bye.

My life took a lull, perhaps one mortal life's worth, where I took up gathering plants, ores, and aether. I rented a living space in Sanctum to pursue my crafting, finding the only friend I really had. D'ni, the armor smith, taught me all he knew and soon my level of skill rivaled his own, the quality of our links the same. We grew very close over the course of my instruction. I told him everything, even showing him the letter and what I assumed it meant. He asked about my fantasies, if I saw myself with all Asmodians as friends, or just the spirit master? Did I picture us having fun chatting or clasped together in the night? Conversation turned to our fantasies about each other, but we still refrained from acting on any one of them in honor of his mortal wife. He asked to not know where I lived in case he felt tempted to recreate those fantasies, and expected I would not visit his home in the night.


	4. Blood Bindings

* * *

_"Help from a sacred child is like a hidden knife. It could save you, or you may be unable to find it at a crucial moment. Either way, you must treat it with respect."_

* * *

I received a letter from an ebony haired gladiator I was friendly with in Bloodwings. She was, perhaps, the one I was closest with aside from my templar. Her letter was very sweet in that she wrote things I did not expect to learn.

> _Tom-Tom –_
> 
> _Things in legion are quiet. Even with you gone, people are on edge. Brigade General Relee can't schedule as many things as he wants because we are short on clerics, and the ones we got weren't as good as you, though to be fair they are getting better. Your name is taboo - no one can decide if they hate you because you were so kind and talented. I'm upset by it, too, but not because of the Asmo. I wish you had told me instead of keeping it a secret. It hurts that I can't defend you if tensions do come to a boil and people argue about your worth. Relee might be thinking of asking you back if the rest of the legion can suck it up. He's trying to get your temp back, too, because he was really good and the two of you together was smooth sailing for everyone. I might or might not have been eavesdropping on a meeting with the centurions, but enough about me. I don't know who you've told or even who has asked why you left but we get asked a lot what happened to you. Your old brigade Edd was worried you faded. No one in legion has a response because no one really wants to explain the whole ordeal and relive their own frustrations to strangers, but I told Edd a bit. He knew the Asmo, I think. Made some comment of how he always smiled when he looked at you, even if he was being killed, and how you two never fought each other. Edd looked thoughtful as he left. He's doing ok, if you were worried. He sent that purple girl away when she got pissed at some chantress. I think she's jealous she can't heal, but that's just my thinking. I heard your crafting is exceptional in chain - how are you with plate? I need a new set, and it would be good to see you. _
> 
> _ -Danna_

She came to visit a month later when she had a break. I measured her, got materials needed, and we figured what armor to make. She came back with me to my little apartment and we had what perhaps solidified our friendship as we stayed up all night sharing stories. She even had her own whimsical fantasies of romantic interludes with the furbacks she fought, saying some of them were too attractive to fight the thought. I knew some of the Asmodians she spoke about, and we laughed over it as we questioned what they were like off the field, in the bed. She left the next morning in high spirits and I felt happier than I had in a long while. I worked on her armor relentlessly, making it as perfect as I could to show her how much I appreciated her friendship. I was rewarded with two more friends, a sorcerer and chantress, who came with her to pick it up. The sorcerer lamented how I was not a tailor because he had not seen anything as nice in the cloth market. The chanter and I started talking about a new hauberk for her. All three came over for dinner so we could talk about the legion and where I saw myself going if Sanctum ever bored me. The chantress confirmed that Brigade General Relee wanted me back, that he could trust my skills in battle and was reasoning that my presence would eliminate the tensions that refused to fade in my absence. This was all discreet, though. I had to wait to hear from him personally and act surprised, though he probably knew they would tell me. To be honest, I wasn't sure what I'd tell him. I was happy in Sanctum, with my hammer and anvil and an armor smith to talk to as a friend and lover though neither of us knew the other's bedroom.

Relee did show up in Sanctum a while later, claiming he had commissioned a new pair of daggers that could cut the wind right out from under black wings. It was strange to see him dressed normally because, if you didn't know him, he was as unthreatening as possible. His deft fingers examined my armor-smithing skills relentlessly, seeking flaws when I purposely showed him only the best of my works. He asked if I had considered weapon-smithing since I had very little to improve on with armor craft, his discreet probe to see if I planned to stay in Sanctum or to keep busy. It was a mind game, then, with how we chose our words so carefully that the other had only moments to find all the different interpretations and consider all of the meanings. He finally cut to the point and asked if I wanted to come back. I answered with a question of who would trust me enough to heal against Asmodians, to which he said he would keep me as his healer until the others could move on, and if needed, he would find a way to make it clear they had to. Perhaps my friends were right in that he was desperate for a good cleric because he began arguing in hypotheticals of how I could not spend all eternity in Sanctum unless I planned to master all of the crafts. Being a cleric, you learn to read people even when they don't want to be an open book, and I knew that he was afraid I would fade, that a cleric of my skill would be lost. His group was often the best of the legion, running the most dangerous of missions as well as the ones that I would have performed, and he was suggesting I replace his static clerics as a way to prove my capability. His templar and I were friendly before my exile, as were his sorcerer, spirit master, and ranger, but they usually kept to themselves and this was before that awful dredgion mission. They were professional enough that I would not have to worry about them on the field, and they would trust me without a word of protest if Relee gave me his support, but that was a small, elite group that already had two clerics on rotation. Relee had good intentions, but I told him I would think it over and send my answer in the mail. He said to deliver my letter in person.

I spoke about it with D'ni, told him everything Relee had mentioned as best as I could recall conversations. He listened, mostly, and waited for me to get to my own conclusion, which was that I wasn't ready because I wasn't sure of myself anymore. We walked to the arena, met a couple of his buddies, and set up duels. We lost the first several, but he blamed himself for not remembering how to fight and protect me at the same time. My focus switched rapidly, something he could not compensate for and we kept losing until my frustrations were enough that training came back. I had, of course, made the best armor for myself, so even when I was forced one on one I was able to hold my own depending on the class I faced. This went on for days, getting back in mental and physical shape. I was made to run a lap around the city before breakfast each day and made to fly as much as I could in the arena while fighting. Our conversations stopped being purely flirtatious and turned to review, hypotheticals and strategy. I took courage from him as I went to Heiron to visit Relee.

The first thing he asked when he saw me was why I took so long to make a decision I already knew. He liked my answer of training. The emotions filling the legion house ranged from elation of my friends, quiet joy that a cleric was back, silent acceptance and mild fuming from some of the blockheads. One of the new clerics came over first thing to ask for tips, listing off scenario after scenario where I had to choose who I healed first, who I attacked, whether I had to die to save someone else, and my answer had to be fast because I only had seconds to decide if it were real. No matter my answer, he would argue against me until he was convinced of my choice as the correct one and then he would sit silently, either musing over it still or drafting the next impossible scenario.

I was stopped once or twice in passing in the citadel. Some were people I had met before, who were happy I was back and inquired where I had gone and why. I made small talk, answered slyly that I had come to terms with immortality again and with the war. Other people stopped me because of my armor, saying how it was a stunning piece and asking who the crafter was. Many recognized the little swirls I engraved in the metal, my chosen trademark. When I admitted it was my own work, the words spilled forth about how they admired my armors and wanted to commission if I ever decided I had the time. I met very few people who had ill words, usually those who felt entitled to my time and craft, but there were also those who had heard somehow about my Asmodian and gave me very curt conversations since they had already chosen their value of me.

My father eventually found me. We had not spoken for a long time, but he had been tracing my path and gathering what information he could without intrusion. I told him as little as I could, mostly putting away his fears that I was sleeping with Asmodians and fighting Elyos. It made him happy to hear I was with my legion again, my exile having been a serious concern in his eyes. Always trying to be something of a father, he gave me a tiny pet egg that I might think of him in my travels. I was not really sure what to do with it but he left me with that and took his leave back to Verteron. He might not have the same degree of love for my mother as D'ni does for his deceased wife, but my mother still had an effect on his decisions. She should, since she was the only one he ever chose to marry.

The egg hatched easily enough, forcing me to take care of a baby circa. Of course my three friends delighted over it, but Relee and I saw it as a hindrance for a cleric trying to get back in the action. It grew fast, though, and would bounce around everywhere, mewling at me. I took some strange delight when it saw a wind pet for the first time, squealing the highest note I have ever heard a rodent make, and for which I named is Squee. He quickly became a comfort, something for idle fingers to pet or a distraught mind to focus on. Squee would curl into the tiniest of balls inside my pockets, cube, clothes, and armor that I would discover on accident until I learned all of his favorite spots to fall asleep. The sorcerer and gladiator had their own pets so it was easy to leave Squee at the legion house when I ran off to heal for Brigade General Relee and his team.

The missions I was asked to heal were challenging, to say the least. I was pushed to my limits time and time again but I never asked for reprieve. Relee had given his word of support and his team accepted me as cleric in place of the two they had trusted for the past several decades. Whether they welcomed me back to legion or not did not matter - they were all professional and trusted me. Any mistakes I made were compensated for and forgotten shortly thereafter. There were times that we died a lot, using kisks like candy, but that was usually due to the complexity of the missions. There were days we tore through three dredgions and I wondered just how large the balaur fleet was, if we were making any impact at all. On a whim, the group would hunt for a rift, an aetheric seam in the air that would send us to some unknown area on the other half of Atreia. It was probably on those missions I was the most nervous, moving as fast and silently as possible, tearing through Asmodians and leaving that area immediately in anticipation of being reported. My blood was boiling from anxiety, so badly that the sorcerer asked to rest a bit in a small cave that I might breathe normally. I didn't want to stop since I knew Brigade General Relee was testing my mettle, seeing with what emotion I smote Asmodians. Mostly, I healed my legionmates and rarely turned offensive, but there were occasions that I had to fight. I never saw Voltaic, heard his voice or saw a wind spirit that look a little more familiar than the others. For that, I was grateful. Meeting him with Relee's team would end poorly.

My friends were proud of me for keeping up with the elites, making jokes like how the elite clerics were enjoying their vacation and how I was so lucky to be the only female in a group of top daeva. I ignored those comments because I only saw them as people to impress, not to court. Relationships complicate things and dating any one of them would be asking for trouble. They respected my gender, I respected theirs, and we all acted professionally in every situation whether it was sleeping, bathing, or otherwise. If they had any interest, I never knew because they probably acknowledged the danger of courtship within a group, too.

I was finally given a break. Brigade General Relee decided that I had proven my worth and that the other legionaries should have no qualms with my skill and were expected to act maturely on the field. The two clerics he normally worked with were called back to service with me as backup if both of them were unable to heal the elite team. The gladiator who crushed on me before took his time in speaking with me again. My friendship with Voltaic hurt him a lot. He claimed that the look on the spirit master's face that dredgion was of true concern and he could think of very few reasons an Elyos and Asmodian would be friendly. His conclusion was the same as the fur-backed templar and all of the Elyos I had met and received condescending looks from. He opened up and I responded likewise, so we worked though our differences then and agreed to be friends. Being in Bloodwings was more bearable knowing I had made amends with at least one person.

Life became a lottery where no two days were the same. I circulated among the somewhat established groups to find a templar who worked well with me. Many liked me and took their time - it was the occasional templar who decided to test my limits by pulling numerous enemies that I nearly obelisked out of heart attack. The snide comments were there at first, the worst being how I had favored the elites on and _off_ the field, but I did my best to counter those comments without ruffling feathers. Shan, the elite templar who ran with Brigade Relee, defended me, too, though in the cold fact way that does not leave you warm and fuzzy. After that, my groups kept their comments to themselves and the random assignments were easier to deal with. Even if they didn't like my personality, they could rarely deny my capability, and their respect was all I really needed. I am a daeva, and my duties come before my pride.


	5. The New Frontier

* * *

_"May the Lords smile on those exploring new worlds."_

* * *

The new frontier opened. Balaurea. The outer shell of our broken world had been accessed by daring daeva and the aetheric gates were set up. It is a world terribly beautiful and warped from the Atreia that once was. Other Bloodwings had set out to explore it ahead of my arrival and I heard many fascinating things from Danna and our friends, of wind streams that networked the land, of the strange races that I would encounter as friends and foes. Crafters were experimenting with the new metals, aether, and plants to make even better supplies for the war effort. I was informed of a new dredgion, the Chantra, which was the latest in balaur weapons and often flew over Inggison looking for something to kill. As if that threat wasn't enough, Asmodians were a heavy risk if you were not mindful of where you strayed. Three way battles became a daily occurrence, our dark relatives often complicating our tug of war with the balaur forts. I never had the resolve to take a rift over to Gelkmaros, the land near Inggison that the Asmodians had breached. It was hard to get there, to begin with. The portal was only open if you could access an artifact in the two balaur forts, which took you to a whole new land of danger entirely. It was from there, Silentera Canyon, that you could get to Gelkmaros. It was challenge enough to fight the balaur, and I am not adventurous enough to go hunting through some canyon to seek Asmodian blood.

D'ni came to visit me at Inggison's Illusion Fortress. His status as an expert crafter had earned him access to the latest materials and he was busy testing out new armor. He bade me wear some chain and let him know of its quality. It was much more brittle than I was expecting, so I saw D'ni often for repairs and new trials. More crafters began experimenting, to earn the master title by making fine pieces of the Balaurean materials, and the market increased. The two of us began to gather on my days off, collecting all we could either for use or market. Unfortunately, some of the items were only found outside of the perimeter set up by Elyos outposts, and the templar and I engaged Asmodians. Despite our training in Sanctum, we lost most every time. D'ni was as blood thirsty as I was, which was to say, not. He would still fight with all his heart, believing in the honor of a good match. If we won, he would utter something in Asmoth that he said meant a good challenge.

A report came from nearby once of a group that had not been completely wiped. Aion has a sense of humor, I think, because Voltaic ran into us as we gathered. The wind pet launched at D'ni, who caught the animal and subdued it the way he would wrestle in play. The fact it was snapping at his face meant nothing. I cried for them to stop and all three of them did. D'ni let go first, giving the spirit a pat on its horned head fast enough the pet couldn't claw his hand. Voltaic was a little shocked, standing there not knowing what to do. D'ni, saint that he is, approached him and offered a hand in friendship. The two shook hands, my templar came back to pat my head much like the wind spirit, and then wandered away but within shouting distance. The air was awkward for us, broken by the pet bounding into my arms and licking my face. Voltaic was uneasy, probably because his group would find us, but I didn't worry. A chance like this did not happen often so I took his clawed hand gently and gave him a turquoise I had found. His arms encircled me and we hugged, my ear resting over his heart that I could count the beats until my heart matched his pace. He stole a kiss and we shared a very tender moment. Black wings shielded us from view as we tasted each other's lips again, and I was content. He chuckled at one point and I looked at him in question, but the only response I got was another kiss. It was the disturbance of aether that clued me to his group's approach and it was then I assumed an assassin might have been watching us. I pulled out my notebook and gave him a small letter I had written so long ago.

> _Sweet Voltaic, it has been so long since I saw you. I hope you are well. My legion is unhappy with our last encounter but my heart warms to know I could fight beside you as an ally at least once. I hope that you did not regret that dredgion, nor that you suffered afterwards for it. May Aion grant us a peaceful meeting next time._

It was embarrassingly brief, but he smiled appreciatively at the fact that I had a letter at all and chuckled at my scribbling of Asmoth words and a small sketch of a wind spirit. He kissed me again, a long meaningful one, and then he left. Surely he was going to meet his comrades and wanted to be away from me lest our meeting end in my pain. They would learn of this, I was sure, since he failed to wipe the glee from his face and the lightness to his step before I lost sight of him, but their reaction to it was beyond my comprehension.

If my dreams, daydream and normal sleep alike, I began to wonder who his friends were and what they would think of me. We would chat, myself speaking Asmoth though in my dreams all words were Elyan, and I would wake up from a joke we all laughed at that eluded me upon waking, though once or twice I was still chuckling that Danna would look at me oddly. Apparently the conversation was so riveting I would also talk gibberish in my sleep that she made fun of me, claiming I was quite the conversationalist. She was a dear friend and we had shared secrets before that I trusted her with that meeting and what I dreamed of, and she nodded her understanding. She still teased me, but she knew why it was gibberish now.

My groups were often dealing with the Dragonbound, humans that had been caught on this side of the world and changed for the worse. They were either brainwashed or had been wronged by daeva that they worked with the balaur, but the worst problem was that they multiplied fast. Culling them became one of my least favorite assignments just because I knew they were human and, like the Asmodians, once my brothers and sisters. Their grievance was harder to swallow, though, since they were directly helping the balaur instead of simply hating the Elyos post-cataclysm.

In fighting the Dragonbound and balaur, I came to know the Reian people. They are crude and fail to understand certain social graces, but they know how to survive in Inggison. If you met a particularly nice one, he might teach you a trick to getting across the map with a new wind stream or tell you where certain materials could be found. The odd, defining characteristic of the Reians was that they all bore a single, red wing. My suspicion, since they never liked to talk about it, was that they removed one as a sign of loyalty to Lady Siel, Empyrean Lord of Time who died in the Cataclysm. There are not many places to fly in Balaurea, and the aether there has changed their single wing to a phantom of its former self that perhaps they would not be able to fly, anyway. My own wings had taken on new feathers, the aether of this new world mixing with my own aether to form new patterns and colors that helps make all of our plumage somewhat unique.

Relee and his team, though they had welcomed me back so warmly, were less inclined now that I was circulating among the other legionaries without trouble. I saw the brigade general only to submit reports of scoutings and any quest I had been charged with. In fact, the only real time I saw the majority of my legion was at fort, taking and defending or the off chance we took the offensive to Gelkmaros and the Asmodians. They outnumbered us, but what were numbers when you are immortal? It becomes more a question of who can get back to the fortress quicker and whether the balaur are fighting, too.

Silentera Canyon became a serious battleground, I was told. One of the ancient dragon lords had been discovered, Rudra Stormwing, and there were nights I shuddered at the sheer thought of him. Why he was imprisoned in Beshmundir Templar was never made clear to me, but the Seraphim wanted him gone. Many daevas had been selected by Sanctum to defeat this balaur lord. None returned in victory. In fact, not many returned at all. Something about this dragon made daevas fade that the effort against him became volunteer only, and even then Sactum was still selective. Ascension is not that common - loss of an immortal is a serious concern. Jokes to the cocky minded were to go kill Stormwing to prove their worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: I wrote this chapter after I managed to kill Stormwing on hard mode for the first time. It was a very long process of six hours from start of instance to finish, but we did it. This was the second time I ever faced the boss. I thank my boyfriend for his quick learning because the original fight depended entirely on the cleric with a strategy aptly termed “zombie mode.” The instance has since been reduced to a fraction of the initial difficulty and the level cap increased, so it’s far easier now, but I will never forget how difficult and exciting it was.


	6. Dark Wings, Dark Secrets

* * *

_"In only a single day, your life can change forever. Maybe it will be tomorrow. Wake up!"_

* * *

Danna woke me from my sleep on occasion. It was those times that I dreamed of Voltaic's friends and their harsh words were so loud my ears still hurt even after I woke up. Again, all meaning to the conversation was lost, but they were angry at each other or at me. The following day was usually a long one. Those became the days I requested my group to take another cleric; my focus was too easily broken then. Danna would often sit with me, brush my hair or hold my hand in quiet as we sat in the breeze. It was when the two of us went to Soteria Sanctuary to help the Reians a bit that our secrets grew deeper. We were alone when he walked straight into us, a dark-skinned Asmodian with a blade in either hand. Danna and I were on the defensive, weapons drawn. One claw captured all our attention as it pointed at me and beckoned. Caution gave way to curiosity when he spoke my name. Our defenses were too low that a sorcerer was able to sneak behind and sleep spell us both. They were yelling when I woke up, but the words did not fade as I opened my eyes. Danna and I were in a small Asmodian camp, secluded out of sight of anything but the Ingisson night sky. Red eyes flashed at us but no weapons were barred. Voltaic was there, handing me fruit and drink. Danna was still being slept, the cloud of a spell ever-present over her form as the sorcerer sat with tome open. Voltaic's eyes held such concern that I knew he was a good man. His comrades bickered in their language for hours while I sat and pieced together that it was Danna's presence that upset them. The assassin from earlier was nursing a wound, the cleric shouting fervently at him that I knew where the injury came from. A clawed hand sought mine and I conveyed to the spirit master all that I could through gesture. He understood my friend was acceptable in their camp, and spoke as much, I presume. She was bound and weaponless; the sorcerer closed his book and they let her wake. She struggled against her bonds, but quieted when I told her to stop.

The purpose of the gathering was still unknown to us but it became a laughable situation. Tension was so thick I doubt an arrow could have pierced the air in our circle. Danna and I were separated in case we thought to fight two-on-four. The Asmodians spoke very curtly to one another and focused on their food rations or pets. The sorcerer was silent most of the time, nose buried in a book with glasses slipping slowly down his nose. He said his name was Riven, to which both Danna and I looked at each other in confusion before looking at him. He repeated that his name was Riven, the Elyan words being warped by Asmoth accents. I responded with my own name, and thus began a very slow process of learning the others' language. The cleric was unhelpful, bitter words cutting Riven off whenever he had an excited moment of understanding. Clearly, she was dragged on this venture. To express some of my words, they would let me move about without restraint; they trusted me at Voltaic's word but kept my friend bound.

Going to sleep was a difficult process. I recall having a guard at all times, away from Danna and her guard, and two Asmodians slept in the center. Thoughts raced through my head, questions that kept me awake long into the night. What were they so desperate to ask that they camped in enemy territory to swap words? Was it so sensative in nature that they could not seek a translator in their dark capitol of Pandaemonium? Had Relee noticed that neither Danna nor myself had reported back? How long would it be before the Asmodians had their answer that we could return? Would Relee come hunt for us in our own homeland or search Gelkmaros?

The next two days were the same, of tense circles and constant phrases of words that were easy to explain. As exciting as it was to exchange words with them, my fears were persistent, growing larger with each hour that Relee did not hear from us. Unless they intended to kidnap us entirely, whisk us away to Gelkmaros or some other territory, it was foolish to stay camped as we were. The subtlety of their mission would be ruined the moment we returned, and clearly it must be delicate in nature else they would have truly trapped us somewhere safer from Elyos. The only conclusion was their need for our cooperation, which was given, and the need for language. That was the limiting factor - how fast we could learn. Danna and I spoke quite casually in front of them with words we suspected they did not have written down in Riven's book. Her concerns were the same as mine, that Relee would notify Sanctum and that the whole legion would burst through the trees. Better yet, what would we say when we were released? Relee would certainly demand some explanation for our disappearance and he was not going to accept, _We were teaching Asmodians how to speak Elyan_. It sounded too much like, _We are traitors making our enemies better spies._

The dark sorcerer and Voltaic were quite comfortable with the two of us Bloodwings after those first few days, letting their guard down in front of us that we would see them relax, weaponless, and bicker playfully. Maybe weaponless is the wrong word to apply since Asmodians can claw you to death as well as, if not better than, any Atreian beast, but neither took their tome with any urgency. The assassin was wary but fascinated with us, I think, whereas the cleric outright detested us. Her presence was unexplained since her eyes glowed with deadly intent quite frequently. Danna and I surmised she was either a very close friend, lover or a relative of one of the others.

Going to sleep on the fourth night, I waited until Voltaic was my guard. I spoke his name softly and his wind spirit came padding over to nose my face. As best as I could on the stiff ground, I drew the symbol for cleric and for gladiator, pointing at myself and Danna respectively, and making a tree to suggest two of many. At the top, I drew the symbol from my legion cape and the symbol for assassin, pointing at his comrade. Voltaic watched, and we sat quietly for a time as he solved my message. It was a challenge, but I had to convey to him with what few Asmoth words I knew that our time here was an ever-growing threat back home for us. He gestured he was thinking, and for me to sleep. My dream that night was in both languages, and while I understood everything that was said, the conversations did not follow each other. All of the Elyan was of Bloodwings and the Asmoth of the balaur, and I was the only one who seemed to know we were having two completely different conversations.


	7. An Honest Liar

* * *

_“We are all connected. Nudge one of us and all are changed.”_

* * *

I woke to a cold morning and an empty camp. Danna sat beside me, whetting her blade; it was that sound which roused me. She told me that the Asmodians had returned home and presented me with a letter in a familiar hand writing. Voltaic had understood and they dared not wait any longer once the decision to go was unanimous. Our meeting was to be secret from everyone, especially Brigade General Relee, which was both necessary and a foreseen challenge on my part. To complicate this further, the Asmodians would meet with us every six weeks. Whatever their aim was, clearly our vocabulary was still too small for discussion.

Two problems loomed before me now: how we returned to legion house without raising suspicion and how to leave again in six weeks' time. Danna whisked us to Sanctum and had me repair an old armor of hers, giving just a sly smile when I asked what we were going to tell Relee. We ported to Ingisson, dread with every step as we neared the house. My friend was always headstrong, walking straight into the building without so much as a pause. Shan sat in the common room, calling us to report instead of heading to our room. The brigade had apparently been trying to contact us and demanded to know where we had gone for five days without word. It was all I could manage to meet his gaze and reply, we had been in Sanctum repairing her armor. Danna met his raised eyebrow with a sudden outrage at shugo mailing. It might as well have been scripted. Shan interrupted her so he could listen to the tiniest of rapping on the door. I caught the briefest smirk on her face as Shan opened the door to a bedraggled shugo. The letter was crumpled but clearly addressed to Brigade General Relee. Shan, being second in command, read the letter and visibly deflated. Danna had a smooth expression when he looked up from the parchment. He left us with a small nod and went to give Relee the letter.

Danna was more cunning than I had thought and I realized my own good fortune that she had been with me through the Asmodian incident. Her mind had been clever enough to conjure a legitimate excuse for our absence and lack of contact, as well as a way to execute the fib by way of bribery. Such good liars are the best and worst of friends, because, if you know of their cunning, you begin to question any and all truths.

The brigade accepted the letter as apt excuse, and the only words of admonishment were to speak with him before taking our leave and to send letters by express mail since the regular service had proven unreliable. Everything returned to normal routine, tinged only by my own guilt and knowledge that I would have to disappear again. I've always hated lying, which is probably why I've never been good at it, so Danna would have to be the one to cover for us again. Fortunately, there was a lull in missions that I could take leave without causing problems. Apparently, as Danna told it, she had friends in the Alabastor Order that were backlogged with small assignments that needed doing, and she had enlisted my help to carry out these hunts, gatherings, and assassinations for them. Relee asked for our certification from the Order, but, as smooth as any truth, Danna said we were only helping friends. Our primary devotion was to legion, so we could not actually be part of the organization. Her "friend," some name that rolled off her tongue easily but was near impossible to remember, was charging us with the assignments out of need. Even I could not dispute the soundness of the alibi and I was privy to the truth. So we left, and Danna once again bribed an express shugo to deliver a letter later that week. We camped out where we had met the assassin before, and sure enough a twinge in the aether signaled an Asmodian presence. Knowing he was following in stealth, we began to hunt around the last known location of Ricardo, a murderer wanted by the Alabastor Order. A second twinge of aether and we stopped to welcome Riven. What a surprise instead to see a gladiator running at us, polearm in full swing for me. Danna and I fought hard, but the gladiator was fueled by bloodthirst. He would have had me, too, had the sin not stopped him. Danna, myself and this glad were breathing hard from the fight. Riven came striding up, spoke softly to his fellows and eyed us. I nodded, knowing full well it would happen as the spell came to life off the page and cast us Elyos in slumber.

I woke to the thrill of tension in the camp. The cleric was there, of course, and the glad we fought earlier was glaring at Danna with crimson eyes. Riven set us back to task of exchanging words. Their gladiator, as arrogant and intolerant as he seemed, had a quick mind that could grasp language quite well. Turns out he is fluent in several languages like Mau and Balaur. The words we had traded before were scribbled down as a base that we continued to build on, and soon our phrases grew to full sentences.

Saev, as the gladiator named himself, asked in strong Elyan if Danna would duel with him. He told his cleric and myself to heal them that neither would obelisk. The clang of metal was loud and had me on edge that Elyos would come running to our aid. Danna told me that this was a long standing enmity, and she fought with all the ferocity that he depicted in blood colored platemail. After they exhausted themselves, which took quite a while, they proceeded through motions again, muscles taught with control as they reviewed the fight and learned from it.

Danna and I could talk much less freely considering Saev's grasp of Elyan. She claimed a deep hatred for him that began decades ago, but the fight left them both exhilarated past the point of practiced resentment that became a bond. Their cleric tried to goad me into a duel as well but the assassin put his foot down. He knew her well enough that perhaps he could see her intent being more than a friendly trade of skills. Conversations began to feel more earnest what with the constant exchange of words in both languages. I recall a sudden sense that this was normal, right, and that I had been craving this all along. The two gladiators were still snipping at each other, verbally now instead of with flashing metal, but they tolerated being in the same place and talking. Even their cleric, as much as she refused to speak with us, to join in the learning that seemed so crucial, she was tolerant of it all.


	8. A New Age

* * *

_"All questions teach something, no matter when or if you discover their answers."_

* * *

And finally, after constant learning, I was able to ask, to learn what was behind their methods that was so dire we acted in secret of both Light and Shadow Courts. Voltaic put the questions to my mind that should have been bothering me since Ascension. Where was Aion considering the destruction of the Tower of Eternity? Our deity was clearly still in existence since it should be near impossible to destroy a god and, further evidence in the fact, daeva are still ascending to fight this war. The knowledge, now that I put it in a frame of mind, truly did get under my skin. The Tower had been shattered, spawning the Abyss that was the battleground between our two halves of the same world. This party of Asmodians begged the question and demanded answer. Where, then, did Elyos take role? And Riven answered, both sides might have information the other lacks since we control different fortresses. There was no telling about the differences in our intelligence since none of us were of that profession, but this was the logical start. We were, in a way, traitors, seeking information to give to Asmodians. But we were also acting as the intelligence agents we would seek out by collecting the information they found and seeing what we could discern. No timeline had been set - there really was no way to estimate how many years, decades or centuries this could take.

One Elyos and one Asmodian would meet the day after Solorious each year to exchange information. It did not matter who of either side or even if it was someone new so long as they were trusted with utter secrecy, were not followed, and knew the phrases for a truce. Danna's eyes glittered as she had proposed it, the need for a name for ourselves. The Age of Divinity became our name, an odd phrase that came up in discussion that seemed to everyone's liking. Voltaic must have been a master handicrafter. He presented each Asmodian with a silver pendant with a turquoise set in the middle. To Danna and myself he gave a gold pendant with a corundum. It would be just one more way to identify friends among foes.

We had achieved their first and second goals of learning Elyan and gaining allies. The similarities between our languages was evident after much scrutiny - a thousand years had actually changed very little on the whole that it was perhaps our own discrimination that prevented understanding. There wasn't much need to keep meeting every six weeks like planned. This was bittersweet since I would not have to hide from Relee anymore, but I would once again be far from Voltaic. Our bond was only starting to develop. Into what, I wasn't sure. He would hold my hand briefly but otherwise kept his distance. As we parted, he gave me a polished corundum hairpin. What I did for the year apart was my discretion, but he wanted me to think of him from time to time. We both blushed, and fidgeted, and acted like mortal children who would not or could not say what they felt.

Danna and I returned back and her shugo trick had worked its charm again because no centurion suspected anything. Our leave of absence was only a few days and the letter had been delivered. She and I would sit up late at night and whisper about the Age, practice our Asmoth that we shouldn't forget it, and always kept our pendants close at hand. She asked me quite frankly what was going on with the spirit master, and I had no real response. Friends but with romantic interest? We were certainly never enemies of personal vendetta, but we could not be a couple. Where did a pair like us fall in Aion's split world? I would often wonder what it would become if I saw him every day, whether the passion would grow or cool off. Was our flirting just because it was taboo or did I really connect with him in the lover way D'ni had with his human wife? I asked about Saev but she just giggled and said she looked forward to fighting him again. It seems that time only begets more questions as you try to answer the ones you have.

Relee began requesting me along more often. A new cleric had joined legion and was to spend time with my usual team. Instead of leaving a cleric out, we doubled up for intensive spy missions, patrols around Ingisson or chantra dredgion raids. It became near impossible to take our team out with the standard group makeup. Something unusual would come along like a dual-templar group or several casters that would give us a good fight that Shan and the others would rush back with glee at another round.

My exchange of language with the Age proved a secret weapon. I would hear their commands, of who was the prime target or what skill to use and I could react accordingly. I knew who would be slept or focus-fired and get the dispel and heal off so fast that I amazed the elite team. They patted me on the back and said I had real skills. I renamed my secret as luck and foresight. I don't know the chain of officials that brigade generals report to, specifically, but he must have been reporting on my successes because Sanctum took an interest in me. I was called in to a centurions meeting, something very unsettling when you have a secret. A habit I had developed was rubbing my thumb over the Age pendant. Shan noticed it, asked where I had gotten such a nice necklace, and never realized it was forged by clawed hands. The brigade tried to put me at ease. Nothing like the words, "I have been watching you," to set you on edge. He continued with how my skill had progressed and that he was very happy to have brought me back to legion since I was faring so well despite that dredgion so long ago. Outremus was the highest ranking official at Ingisson Fortress, and whoever he reported to back in Sanctum had passed my name along as a talented cleric, and the letter filtered back down the vine to Relee that I should circulate with other elite teams to prove it was not just his own opinion. This news was something of a shock. Better, most certainly, than them calling me out on treason, but still a surprise. Each one clapped me on the shoulder and wished me luck with whatever mission I was charged with and whatever team I was given to. My summons was in three days.

I holed up in my room. There was a feeling that sat deep in my chest, tight and thick that refused to abate. Anxiety was the closest I could name it, though there was more. Nerves, uncertainty, terror…foreboding. Danna noticed I slept more during the day and was restless at night. I told her about listening to the Asmodians during battle, that apparently Sanctum had been hearing of me and wanted to test my skills. If I passed, if I didn't, there was no horizon in either direction to tell me what to expect or hope for. She was quiet. I asked, and she shook her head that it was nothing. I persisted, and she confessed she felt a little lost that I had proven myself by using the skill we had developed together. She was jealous when she knew she should be happy for me. There really wasn't much to say for that since there were plenty of gladiators. It was much more difficult to make a name for yourself in the plate field. She turned over and went to sleep, but I lay awake for hours, restless. If only sleep would come swiftly.

The floor was cold on my bare feet as I snuck to the men's rooms to seek out my sorcerer friend. He was fast asleep, snoring softly, and I felt an emotional wreck starting deep inside me. What right did I have to wake him so that I might sleep soundly? It was my own guilt that kept me up. Why make my terror his issue? The other sorcerer was a light sleeper, as it turns out, and he sat up to look at me. Words failing me, I just shook my head and saw myself out of their room. He followed, wrapping his sleeping tunic tight and squinting at me without his glasses. I admitted I couldn't sleep and he got a knowing smile, making some joke about how he thought I was looking for something else. He offered to spell me, disappearing back in their room for his orb. My pulse was racing. I recall being fearful that Danna would wake and see me coming back to bed with a male in tow. It really was strange to have a legionmate, a centurion at that, tuck you into bed. The last time someone did that to me was my father and I was twelve. He whispered that I could always ask if I had trouble sleeping, and I could practically hear the sly smile as he offered another type of spell if I ever desired sleep by a different method. His orb glowed faintly, and I fell to dreams that were neither black nor white.


	9. Summons of Mettle

* * *

_"Tell me, is it still a summit when, upon reaching it, we find the mountain extends further towards the skies?"_

* * *

My three days were passed and a shugo was sent to collect me from the legion house. Brigade General Relee and the other centurions wished me luck, but more than that, I felt the weight of their gaze and words to mean, don't let us down. I followed the shugo all over the city, to the main level of Sanctum and to a door leading to the huge tower that was home to the Empyrean lords. Up winding staircases and grand hallways, all in gleaming white with rich, blue tapestries. There was a panel of daevas sitting in a small courtyard, a skylight illuminating the entire room through glass and mirrors. My fears that Ariel, Lady of Light and leader of the Seraphim lords herself would be there were put to rest - my test did not merit Empyrean attention. We spoke candidly, they to get a sense of who I am and to relax me. One woman said it was quite common to be nervous but that I had nothing to fret over. One had papers sitting on his lap, thumbing through them and glancing at me. He asked about my Asmodian encounters, specifically the dredgion I can never seem to escape. My answer appeased them, justified as a chance occurrence we both focused on balaur instead of our age old enmity. Conversation turned into my other dredgion missions, my record of successes and whether I was with legion or random Elyos. What they were looking for in my answers, I don't know, but they still liked me.

The elite templar I would be paired with was there, a beast decked in metal. He had sat very quietly during my assessment. Where we went to test my skills was up to him, and the test ended when he deemed he had a firm conclusion. His team was waiting outside, half of which were a static and two were random elites. His voice, a deep rumbling sound, said we had one hour to prepare our supplies and meet at the Ingisson airline. I asked where we would be going but he gave me a solid look and left me there that perhaps I was not to ask questions. Considering first impressions, I didn't like this templar at all, but what could I do? You deal with many rude daevas as a cleric, and elites are no different. Best to suck it up, follow orders and complete the mission.

Overly stocked on scrolls and potions, the cube sat a little heavier, but if I was not to know where we were going, surely I would not be told how long this was expected to last. The chanter was waiting, chatting amiably with the ranger. The templar was not speaking with either of them, though he wore the same legion cape. Perhaps he just didn't speak regularly. The assassin and spirit master joined us and we all paid the fare to Soteria Sanctuary. From there we took the wind stream which lets out just at the rift to Silentera, and I knew my trial would be proving my, "luck and foresight." Six of use rode the wind currents down to the rift, deep in the ground. On the other side, we stood in an Elyan encampment, the one and only place we could firmly control in Silentera since Asmodians could not climb up to it. The aether was so thin in the entire cavern that you couldn't fly at all. Huge beasts from the pre-Cataclysm era roamed about, and they were like the Dragonbound in hating anything immortal and winged. The templar skirted around those easily, running ahead of us all despite his armor and massive shield. The ranger and assassin would run on ahead sometimes, cloaking themselves that even we could not see where they were. A thrill of aether, and they signaled to us an oncoming party of five. I let them run ahead of me a bit, and sure enough four figures were on course to meet us, a fifth probably in hide and sneaking to me. I saw the flash of crimson to my left as my own assassin destroyed both of their invisibilities. They began to trade blows at a speed that terrified me, but I threw protective spells at my own group, keeping tabs on each person. The Asmodians did not have a spell caster so the victory was an easy one. I never sat easy with spirit masters since they can instill a fear so deep in you that you panic, so it is amusing to know that I feel at ease with Voltaic. The templar never so much as glanced at me though I knew he was paying attention. Perhaps it was his helmet. I could not tell what his face or eyes said.

Ever seeking blood, we continued to run to the very heart of Silentera Canyon. That is a very dangerous place to fight because of the others that roam there. Balaur sentinels as diverse in class as ourselves and as old as the Cataclysm. It would take a whole group to fight just one of them. Parties selected to enter Beshmundir Temple had to sneak in past these guards just to attempt at progress and die. What we were doing here, I didn't know, but my heart was racing just at the knowledge of where we stood. The ranger signaled again with short chirps - three oncoming enemies. A chanter, sorcerer and cleric who, incidentally, was familiar to me. She did not wear the Age pendant Voltaic had made for her, so perhaps she chose not to be a friend without that group. Upon seeing me, she left her party to fend for themselves, fighting with me viciously and saving all of the healing spells for herself. The chanter managed to kill our ranger, and the sorcerer slept our templar. I threw the dispel incantation at him, using my shield to block every mace swing at my head. Our spirit master managed to fear her that she bolted from the wind pet as it guided her like a cattle-dog. Our chanter resurrected the ranger, and I cast my fastest heal on her so she would not be a prime target. The sorcerer was dead at the hands of the assassin, and their chanter was unable to escape the templar. Their cleric must have truly wanted my head on a platter, charging back in and screaming. Part of me wanted to run at her, too, to show I was not afraid, but I planted my feet and prepared for impact instead. Asmoth spilled out of her lips. I did not know the key word, but it was most likely insulting. Anything would fit in that sentence. Whore, slut, bitch, pigeon. Even banana could have worked. The sentiment was there, though, and it was ever so enjoyable to throw a root on her ankle and see her trip. That only fueled her rage, and this time I did run to meet her. Our templar was obviously a firm believer that the cleric should not fight if it can be helped, since he pulled her away from me before we engaged. I would have liked to finally trade blows with her, but I will have to be content with the look on her face as the electric cage surrounded her and dragged her to the templar. It's the little things in life, I guess. All three bodies returned to Gelkmaros. I apologized to the ranger I couldn't keep her alive. She shrugged it off saying I was busy defending myself, no hard feelings. The templar was watching me, perhaps, or rethinking taking a one-on-one fight from me. Hard to say with that helmet. The chanter gave a chortle about how I must know that other cleric, adding that he didn't want to know what I did to piss someone off that much.

The group found a small, ruined road and followed it to a dead end after several hours of hunting for Asmodians. The assassin had explored the area many times and claimed it was a safe place to camp. In an area like Silentera Canyon, you don't rest, even in an enclosed area off the beaten path. It offers protection from behind, but it can be a double edged sword to corner your entire team at the mercy of a caster or large parties. Our rest was little more than eating a bit and closing our eyes for an hour while three people stood watch. The ranger planted traps, charging each seed with her aether that would trigger against Asmodian auras. The assassin sat watch in stealth, and the wind pet stood vigilant as a statue. My eyes were closed, but when you are being watched by Elyos and hunted by Asmodians, it is very difficult to sleep. Even when I would rift with Relee and his team, it would take a while for me to slip under unless I was run to the brink of exhaustion. Considering Relee, that was often the case. This templar was probably just warming me up since I was still charged with nervous energy.

After our short camp, we erased all evidence of our stay and proceeded to hunt again, saluting other Elyos parties we crossed paths with and charging head on to the black wings we found. Whatever legion those three were from, their motto was probably to never run. Regardless of the classes and numbers to their team, the templar, chanter and ranger would head straight in to the fight, leaving me no choice but to follow. We all died at least once, but we won nearly every fight that we would resurrect our fallen and continue on. The fight that ended our winning streak was a pincer attack. Fortune was against us as we met with a small party of Asmodians, unaware that a small group was running behind us. I was killed so fast they did not even need to silence my cry. The spirit master was next, followed by the chanter. The leathers and templar did as best they could, dying with honor as we all crumpled down in a heap of feathers.

A neat trick clerics can manage is to resurrect yourself - if you are not body-camped. Your soul hovers over your body and everything is very detached emotionally, but logic still exists. In that grayed world, I saw the Asmodians salute one another and leave. The decision was up to me, then, if I wanted to risk unfurling my wings before any hidden threats grew bored and left. It was some time since I last felt a twinge of aether, throwing my soul back in my body and breathing air again. The thrill of anticipation is fresh every time, racing through me in case there is a scout class lying in wait, but no blades came at my back and no crimson eyes met mine. I resurrected my group, we rested briefly, and continued on our merry hunt.

The templar led us to another dead end but this one was glowing with aether. The rifts are of a different sort than the swirling vortexes in Elysea and Asmodae. These were more permanent locations caught in strong aetheric currents, connecting Balaurea with itself rather than opposing faces of our planet. Not one person of my group hesitated as we touched the stone and let it whisk us away to Gelkmaros. The Asmodians must have found Balaurea a very strange place considering how warm it is compared to their homelands, sprouting forests and spanned by dessert. It was similar enough to Elysea, beautiful in its natural state, even more so in the range of colors. A dream of mine has always been to explore that land to the fullest. Our dark cousins never care to hear that wish, though, so it shall remain just another daydream of mine for that far-off world where Asmodians and Elyos reunite.


	10. Caged Resolve

* * *

_"The most delicious of fools is he who is wiser than to trust the tameness of a spider... but still his choice is to climb into the web."_

* * *

Where we stepped out under the Gelkmaros sky, we took a wind stream over a balaur infested area, tilting our wings ever so carefully to guide us around to a safe haven. Having rifted very little, I could not tell you where we stood but the templar knew the lay of the land and led us to a well-hidden spot to plant a kisk. They are wonderful little contraptions that act as a temporary obelisk so that you don't have to run the whole way back if you die. Their portability makes them weaken quickly, though, so they only last about a few hours. Again, the templar left the rest of us out of the loop, charging ahead like a brax-bull at full speed. A few balaur spied us as we wove through the trees and stones, slowing us down from whatever our objective. We eventually found a small box, killed the nearby monsters and the chanter slipped the contents into his cube before we charged ahead to someplace else.

Searching for our next target led us close to the main roads that we were seen by two Asmodians. Common strategy is to kill the spirit master or cleric first. Our spirit master was no exception, being forced to run as fast as she could while her pet flew at her pursuers and the rest of our team converged to kill the duo. More came along the road, myself as a prime target and it was my turn to round around while the chanter acted as healer. While I would not name myself an elite cleric, it is certainly a comfort when working with elites because everyone seems to know their responsibilities well and the team can adjust accordingly to most any situation despite not having worked together before. The balaur we were after was nearby and we stole his documents once we dispatched of him. Our third target was also in the area, but the Asmodians we had met were back, throwing curses at us, shouting for us to go home along with some more distasteful messages. I died at least once, resurrecting myself nearly straight after and throwing a magical shield up so that the chanter and myself could heal while I was weakened. The spirit master also died, but our group pulled through. I resurrected her and we carried on with our objective to find another balaur, killing several since they all look alike. I doubt the Asmodians will miss the extra few.

Our "friends" came back once more in force and the templar called a retreat. I rooted when I could afford to look back, the chanter and spirit master as well, and the ranger would throw down her traps if she could. All six of us ended up jumping into a ravine that the aether was strong, opening our wings and flying to the other side. Our stay was most unwelcome, being met by a line of crimson eyes in our path. As a healer, one of the most frustrating things is having to heal in flight. Air-borne battles involve whole new strategies from diving, aerial traps, and concentrating on your wings. It was futile against the pincer attack, but I tried to see us through that fight, chasing down each of my allies in an attempt to save them, only to be a breath too late and feel the despair take hold of me as I felt my own wings tangled, beaten and left to fall to the bottom of that bird cage. I followed the thread of aether back to the kisk, taking breath there and healing us as we all rested. The tears could not be stopped, but I at least held in the sobs and the sniffles. If they noticed the wet trails, no one commented. The templar rose and led us back out there without a word, and I followed, wiping my cheeks dry as I prepared to enter that vulture pit once more.

They were still waiting for us, a cloud of ink-colored feathers tinged with blues, purples and reds. I glued myself to the spirit master - a gamble since we were the most appealing targets - but I kept us alive as best I could. I crashed my shield against an assassin that tried to backstab her, fighting until she could fear them, spirit riding the wind as it snapped and howled ferociously. We died again, regrouping at the kisk. This time, the templar gave me a solid nod. Again, he said, before charging back with us in tow. Obviously, I could heal well enough on ground. He wanted to see what I did on the wing. He ran us out there until the kisk gave out, and we died every time, but there were some personal victories like seeing us tackle one of the Asmodian generals, killing him before we were decimated. After that round, when we returned, the general was waiting again with the rest flying in formation behind him. We halted, flying in place as he made motions and five enemies joined him. He was an assassin, joined by a templar, chanter, ranger, spirit master and cleric. Their general was asking for an equal match. Same numbers, same classes. One claw beckoned to our assassin, and it was clear he wanted it verse your opposite. The Asmoth rumbled from his mouth, declaring this a true test of skill and he expected each of his team members to prove their worth. I eyed their cleric, sizing him up and saluting. What our fight would be was up to him. Of us six Elyos, I might have been the only one who knew their language, but we all understood the fight to come.

There was no signal, just a flash of blades before the thunder as we all engaged our counterpart. The assassins were a flurry of motion, the wind pets were ripping into one another while spells charged the air. Arrows rained down that all twelve had to be wary. Plate rang as the templars traded blows, wings beating to hold them in place in their aerial duel. My assassin was losing badly, and I threw my fastest spell at him. Angering a general is perhaps the wrong thing to do. I felt blades at my neck as he pinned me, wings crushed that it was his strength that kept us both aloft. He promised to come for me personally once he finished my friends. His blades no longer bit against my flesh and I had to heal my own wings that I might fly. Their cleric came at me with a cruel looking staff. The stench of oiled leathers still filled my nose, and part of my attention was constantly glancing to see if the assassins had a winner. The staff crushed one of my wings and I would have fallen had a clawed hand not grabbed my dominant arm. He was swinging at me, which I blocked with my shield before trying to smash his face in. It clipped him enough to let go, only to catch my foot instead. Vertigo gripped me that I nearly lost my mace and shield had they not been strapped to my wrists. When my vision was straight, a sudden fear gripped my soul. The Age pendant was dangling from my mace, and being made by Asmodian hands, there was no guarantee it would return to me when I resurrected. I tried to grab it, but I was relying on an Asmodian to hold steady while I was dangling from my ankle. Next thing I knew, I was right side up and being body checked against the cliff face.

Even in my delirium and pain, my concern was for the pendant and I looked forlornly at my mace when the golden chain was no longer there. I recall vaguely launching off of the rock, grappling with that cleric that he could not swing his staff at all while I forced him to support both of us in flight as I smashed my pommel into him. I shouted all kinds of obscenities at him, every swear I knew. Vision swimming with tears, I glanced at the other pairs and saw nothing but black wings. I was the last Elyos to be killed, and yet the pendant was still my prime concern. I threw a blow at his wings and disentangled as we fell, summoning my wings in a dive to the rocks below. The Asmodian had barely caught wind under his wings when I let incantations fly from my lips. He finally crumpled, and I cast eyes about for the necklace. If there is one thing I am guilty of, it is telegraphing what I am most focused on. The assassin general was keeping good on his promise, locking me in place with a dagger to my throat once more as he dangled Voltaic's gift before my face. He made a joke about how pigeons don't normally seek shiny things, that I was much closer to a magpie (I inferred. I know of very few birds that would fit what he said). I spat back, calling him a bastard in his own tongue as I made a grab for the prize. The pain that ripped through my neck was terrifying, my own force having cut me before he could let up on the pressure. Hearing Asmoth from my lips let surprise slip into his voice and a smirk on his face, no doubt. His chuckle was low in my ear, though, laughing about how the pigeon would peck a crow, and how I was being foolish over something so sentimental. Restrained and unable to heal myself, I died slowly in his grasp, slumping against him as I weakened, watching as my fingers let go of the chain, refusing to take hold again before I was pulled back to my obelisk. The templar was waiting for me, helmet underarm and brow furrowed about why I had lived so long compared to them. I couldn't give him an answer - my throat was swollen shut as I confirmed that the pendant was gone.

The trial was over. The templar-of-few-words-grunts-and-other-sounds told me I could return to my legion house. His gaze was judgmental as I tried to hold myself together before I was dismissed. I asked what I could work on, to which he said I already knew my weaknesses. I made my way home in a stupor, holding in every emotion that I might save face. What friends I saw at the legion house all rose to greet me despite my being gone barely over a day. I passed them all, aiming for my room, Danna's company, and a bed I could cry into. Once I crossed the threshold, the emotions could do what they pleased.

Danna was not in the room when I finally made it there. Darkness greeted my eyes as I softly clicked the door in place and let memory guide me to my bed. I vaguely recall scooping up the small, black ball on my pillow and cradling Squee in my pathetic state. She chirped and clicked at me as kircas do, and tucked up under my chin as I fell asleep.

I woke to gentle fingers brushing my hair from my eyes and a wet cloth wiping my face. Danna had come home, offering me a warm smile as she spoke very lightly. Reality was not far behind, and the tears started up again. Her mouth lost its smile as whimpers rose in my throat, evolving to sobs as she hugged me gently. The wonderful thing about Danna was that she was caring without probing. She knew people would tell her in their own time and skipped straight to the comforting. She undid the fastenings of my armor and set it aside, leading me away to the bath. Gentle fingers pulled the soiled cloth off of me and undid my hair, setting aside the golden hairpin Voltaic had made for me. I picked it up, holding it tight as the tears threatened to form anew. She figured it out, then, and I knew she wanted to ask. As best I could, I said it was gone, fallen off of me in battle and failed to return when I did. She reached the same conclusion I had - that an Asmodian made item would return with us only if we were touching it. It was not a soul-bound item because our aethers were just different enough. Fingers gripped my shoulders affectionately as she said, You should take comfort that he gave two gifts.

I still felt the loss and despair, but I knew I was fortunate the pin had not slipped out during the battles. Danna was just trying to cheer me up, but with good reason. I had to report to Brigade General Relee, and the rest of legion would be curious what my trial had been like. Still moving in a daze, she helped me to dress in clean clothes and brush out my hair. I don't recall moving from the bath room to Brigade Relee's quarters, but his voice bade me enter and I was standing at attention before him. One eyebrow raised to see me so soon after my summons in Sanctum. As per usual, he knit his fingers tightly together and leveled a steady gaze as I recanted everything I could, from the panel discussing my battle history, the group assembly, Silentera Canyon, Gelkmaros objectives and ending with our fight with the Asmodian general. Relee took particular interest there since this was something he, too, would have done. I was made to describe him as best I could. Shan had entered the room quietly - or perhaps not so quietly, but I was not paying close attention. I recall being very distant from myself, then, almost as if I was dead and hovering over my body, emotionless. Shan watched me passively and named the general Sirrus the Sadist. I would not have named him as such then, but Shan had more experience dealing with high ranking Asmodians than I, so I took his word for it. I later confirmed that nickname for myself. They were very curious about that battle and asked for thorough details to better assess the information. It was easy enough to state how Sirrus threatened me after I healed my assassin, and how the dark cleric had beaten me. I left out the detail that concerned me most, both as a protection for the Age and to ease my own hurt. As far as they were concerned, I killed myself on purpose to deny him whatever he had in store for my death. The corners of Relee's mouth twitched as he fought a smile; Shan gave in to it. It would be any number of days before we heard what the bull-templar and my panel made of my short trial.


	11. Empyrean Chess

* * *

_"Leap too soon and you'll fall too far."_

* * *

I had relatively little to do for the next week, more out of the blatancy that I was not myself rather than any kindness from Relee. All the better, perhaps, since I can barely recall that time. Danna found me to be poor company, confessing weeks later that I hardly spoke with any enthusiasm if I held conversation at all. I know this to be true since, when the shugo did arrive with my letter, well, I hardly recall. Something of that import should have left an impression on me but I can say very little on the event. There was no tremor of anxiety or thrill when I opened it to see I had been confirmed as a talented cleric, my military rank raised. The templar who ran my trial had decided that, while I was green in aerial battles and grew emotional, I followed through and tried new strategies. He had no criticisms about my groundwork, saying I had been a positive member on the team. All of Bloodwings was elated, and I have some recollection of the party that night. Namely of my father's brief presence, the food, and being slightly drunk that I curled up on the couch with D'ni. He came to congratulate me and catch up. Danna said he left when I fell asleep on his shoulder.

I guess I should also mention Kveer, my new pet. All daeva that Sanctum deems of notable skill are awarded a grypho egg. In many towns, there are retired daevas with a faithful gryphon by their side. It's funny to look at Kveer since it will be many decades before he grows into his beak, feathers to change to red and for his wings to fully develop. He's noisy and selective of his diet, but gryphos are very keen to twinges in aether and can alert you to nearby Asmodians. Squee wasn't sure what to make of the addition for a few days, but the two ended up bouncing around my room and would curl up together on the bed each night.

It was a long while before I felt like myself again. The new influx of mission requests was a help. Sanctum was relentless with using me that I could barely find time for myself anymore. Caring for people made me jump back into being a cleric and left little time to muse on Sirrus. There would come moments that I was reminded of him, like when an assassin popped out of hide to kill me and I worried for the first second that it would be the general. The worst was when I woke up in a cold sweat, my throat pained as if the dream dagger had left a real wound.

Missions were long and intensive, and reprieves were cut short by emergency call-to-arms when the chantra dredgion would attack our fortresses. On the off chance I had no groups to assist, fortresses to defend, Asmodians to hunt or any of the other things I was constantly doing, I was allowed to spend my time reading classified documents. The mark on my legion cape denoting my rank would permit me to pass the guards of the Sanctum Library. In there were documents from before the Cataclysm, of theories, prized pieces of literature or information considered dangerous if made public knowledge. I found texts about the first explorations of the Abyss, when we first dared to seize the fortresses there and learning about the artifacts used to defend them. There were books newly published, sitting on the shelf without dust, going on for pages of how one of the dragon lords had harnessed Siel's power of time, and charting the elite teams that explored this balaur-infested future that was named by the author as, Dark Poeta. Beside it were books of the other dragon lords, followed by an empty shelf since Rudra Stormwing was still breathing.

With my new missions, I met a wide range of people, from other brigade generals to experts on all things Asmodian or Balaur. One of which was Pilomemnes. Quite the awkward fellow, but Sanctum took advantage of his infatuation with the Balaur that he was an expert on their history. It was he who was cited in the current volumes on Stormwing because it was his knowledge of Balaur rites that broke Isbariya's seal. I don't know his own history, but he must certainly be old, because I came across his name elsewhere in the library. It was a small book with yellowed pages, but it spoke of the raids to capture the Abyssal fortresses for the first time, of exploring the depths of the stone and routing the balaur out. It was a dreary text, but it was so short that I managed through it, and I must say it was perhaps the one piece of literature I needed. In his explorations of Siel East and West, he came across these metal pieces that no one else had paid any mind to. Being fascinated as he was by our enemies, he refused to let anything be discarded, and realized that they were meant to be together. His theory was supported when Elyos captured Roah, and another piece was cast in the same metal. There were inscriptions on the metal, but only the Siel's pieces connected directly; he was certain rebuilding this artifact was important. The book ended with the first successful raid on Krotan and his guess that each fortress had a piece. I asked him about it next I had a free moment in Ingisson, and he was quite enthused I had found that journal. When I asked what ever became of the artifact, he said those were the only pieces ever found. Sanctum had decided the war with Asmodians and Balaur was enough. Pieces of metal that might be in each fort were of lesser priority. He suspected that the other pieces were in Asmodian possession since they were the ones to initially capture the other fortresses.

Perhaps it should have ended there, but my mind was now plagued with the mystery of the relics. Even Sirrus' midnight terror was pushed aside as my mind kept going back to the journal. I dreamed of some weapon with a glowing inscription. It was different each time I dreamed it, but the sometimes-mace-sometimes-staff was always immensely powerful because of the engraved words. I told Danna, perhaps the first enthused conversation we'd had since my trial. She sat quietly, thought about it, and said that while it was interesting, it didn't help us at all.

A letter was received at the legion house, and Relee announced to all of us that Sanctum was planning an attack on Divine Fortress. Quite the embarkation, considering it was the one stronghold of the balaur that we have never made a dent in their forces, much less conquered. It was central to all of the other fortresses, but the balaur had created a shield around it and you died horribly if you so much as touched it. They had managed to find a weakness, forcing part of the shield to stay open. The balaur tried to close it again, but even the Asmodians saw the benefit and defended our contraptions. Suppliers of all kinds were being put to work as Sanctum rallied all of the legions to siege. Cubes were stocked with healing potions, scrolls, arrows and kisks. Relee and Shan went to a meeting with the other legion leaders as Sanctum organized the units and designated raid leaders. As a cleric, my job rarely changes, but specific groups were assembled to be anti-caster, ranged or stealth specialties. I remember massing at Teminon Fortress, the air charged with anticipation as the scout teams were sent to our upper strongholds. Each artifact was armed, the leaders accompanied by the fastest fliers to signal when artifacts were to be used. It was a huge operation, and I am once again reminded of chess as the Seraphim lords sat back and moved us where they pleased. The Shedim lords must have been doing the same thing because the Asmodians came up against us. Bold Elyos movements had tipped them off and they massed an equally large force. Whole legions were diverted from Divine as they engaged in combat to defend artifacts and teleporters. Relee had us secure Hellfire with another legion. We kisked and left them there as we joined the main push into the fort. The balaur on top were either dead or being cut down, blood and the occasional daeva body on the floor. We charged in and the work began. A shout from behind and it became a pincer attack as the Asmodians came on our tails. Danna ran out there and I followed to help as she cut them down. The Asmodians retreated and my group pushed in to the large chamber to see the balaur general there. He crushed Elyos and Asmodian alike, swatting them from the air and killing several at a time. We were injuring him, cutting through his armor, but the Asmodians were persistent and kept at our backs. I remember looking back at the sea of red eyes and black wings, of seeing just how outnumbered we were and I knew, they had planned this. You cannot simply mobilize this many people - they were waiting for us to attack the fortress, using us as their pawns to do the grunt work and exhaust ourselves. Saev was cutting down whoever stood against him as he worked his way to Danna, trading blows with her and shouting to be unaided. I saw him strike her down, how he held her as she died and released to the kisk. I was so distracted by his behavior I was struck down easily by a ranger. The legion had a nasty surprise waiting for them at the kisk - Asmodians instead of Elyos. They were just waiting like hungry monsters, daggers flashing to send us back to our obelisks. It was so disorganized then with us all rushing back to the Abyss. Divine finally fell, conquered by the Asmodians with their underhanded tactic. They had it fortified to the teeth by the time we were recovered and ready to launch. Long battles ensued after that, days on end until the brigades gave up.

Sanctum was unhappy, of course, but life picked up the usual routine. Asmodian patrols were more frequent in the Abyss, so there were more small scale battles at the Shard teleporters, but overall nothing had changed for us white winged daevas. Not much had changed for the black winged, either. The day after Solorious, Danna went to meet with whoever they decided to send. She came back with little news. From what our fellow Age reported, Divine had a strange door in the artifact room. The door was made of aether and ice, and more puzzling still, it had no key. How do you open a door that has no key? Danna laughed, telling me it really made no difference if we had taken it - we were just as lost as they. There really seemed to be no benefit to control of Divine. The shield around it could not be changed, so even the Asmodians would die unless they took a very long path from Primum Landing. Why the balaur had defended it so strongly was yet to be seen.


	12. Revelation

* * *

_"This is not a place for fighting, but for reflection and debate, for learning and unlearning."_

* * *

Days and months can pass by without so much as a thought if nothing happens. Solorious was creeping up again and this time would be my turn. I managed to steal away the day after the holiday, nerves shaking me badly as I went back to that first meeting spot. I was so scared an Elyos would spy me on the rendezvous or that different Asmodians would find me first. My fears were put to rest when Riven came into sight and we found a hovel to exchange news. He told me that very little progress had been made with the crystal door inside Divine, and our dark winged friends had made very little progress with locating Aion in any form. He had been hoping the capture of Divine might yield new leads. I shared with him all of the literature I'd read that I had found of interest, all of which he noted but without enthusiasm. It was in passing I mentioned Pilomemnes' journal. Riven got a curious look about his eye and asked me to go into greater detail. He asked me to copy the journal, if possible, and look into the whereabouts of those fragments. The more we discussed it, the stronger the importance of them grew, those metal pieces. We saluted, but before I returned home, he gave me a small package. In it was a small corundum earring that sat high on my ear. It made me start to cry, so I hurriedly told him to thank Voltaic, and promised I would have something for him next time. I never did make anything, though. What could an armor smith make for a spirit master?

I went back to speak with Pilomemnes. It felt like such a farce, but he was too excited to see me again to really notice. That, or I'm a fabulous actress, which I do believe I mentioned before of how good a liar I am. I pretended like I was simply passing by that area of Ingisson Fortress, how I had told a friend about his journal and my friend wanted to see the metal pieces. I don't know what I was expecting to hear but my heart fell when I heard they were locked away in the catacombs of Sanctum. He asked me who my friend was, and I mentioned Danna, the first Elyos name that came to mind despite the utter lack of enthusiasm she expressed when I told her about this. She was still unenthused after hearing about my Post-Solorious meeting with Riven. He nodded enthusiastically, as if making a special note of the few Elyos who shared his passion for Balaur relics. I asked if there was any chance we could see the items, but he didn't have an answer for me. It was only later, when my world turned on its head that I got his letter. All that in due time, however. Trying my best to keep this all in order.

There wasn't much in the journal that I had found of any use other than the metal pieces themselves, which were currently locked away, but Riven had asked me to copy the text. I did so, no need to be covert in the secure level of the Sanctum library. Hardly anyone comes up that way, and even less bother you.

It's raining today. The noise is a very calming sound, and the air smells crisp and clean. I have always enjoyed the rain - perhaps my favorite weather to sit by a window and write. It also helps to hide the tears. I know I shouldn't be so emotional writing this - it happened so long ago, but the pain is fresh with the ink. Danna would sit with me on days like today, so perhaps it's fitting I write this now. Fitting and cruel. It took maybe a year for the whole thing to transpire, and I was such a fool for not seeing it. Questions, those ifs and maybes clutter my head, begging to try to change the events that are perhaps my greatest failure. Forgive the blotches, whoever you are. Evidence of tears does no good now.

Danna and I remained distant since my trial, something I have only recently come to acknowledge. My "skill" at predicting Asmodian tactics earned me recognition when it did not do the same for her, and even a sweet daeva like herself is subject to the simple emotions of humans. How cruel was I not to see her jealousy! If only Relee had noticed her ability, if only I had said something once I became an elite… Danna spent more of her free time over in Gelkmaros, often with our chantress or sorcerer friend, but sometimes alone. Our conversations became colder, more businesslike when she was around. Two whole months went by that I did not see her ebony hair, and she was not scheduled for any long missions. That was when I began to notice something wrong. How blind I was. When she did come back, she looked a wreck with hair a rat's nest and skin a pale shade. I asked where she had been, why she did not tell me anything before or during her absence, how worried I was. The gladiator, in the ruined state that was her physical form, simply looked at me. It was a sad look, but more than that. Her eyes were red from crying, but they were dry now, and though she looked sadly at me, she looked hard and determined. The same look she gave Asmodians. It was only after she brushed past me to our room that I breathed.

I gave her the space I thought she wanted, asking very few questions. It was my turn to have cold, nearly one sided conversations in our room. Shan asked me what happened and I told him I had no idea. He might be Relee's right hand man but the templar had some empathy, so he left me to figure it out in the friend way rather than ordering her to speak in a formal report. He must have pulled some strings because Sanctum gave me very small missions, day trips, training other daevas or something else that would not keep me from legion house too long. I am a cleric, however, and a cleric of, "notable skill and rank," so my orders for month long patrols and the like could not be held back forever. The time I did have to spend with Danna…Very little progress. She was still emotionless, responded with short answers. She looked at me sadly, but it never stopped my heart like that first time.

Just when I think the tears have dried up and I put quill to paper, I'm proven wrong. This is so difficult, not only to admit your failure but to know you failed someone else, someone dear. This is only one part in the nightmare that is my life. Where the nightmare began, I can't say. This most certainly told me it wasn't a dream.

She did start to open up, talking more and acting warmly to me, if not the rest of legion. I never did get those answers though, of where she went and how she survived. I know now, but it never occurred to me until the damage was done. Perhaps it was done when she returned, or long before that, and I was simply too blind to realize my friend was in dire straits. I just wish she had said something… It makes me angry she never did. I wonder if my face is the same mix of anger and sadness hers was that day…

The breaking point was when she was well enough to go on missions again. Shan was giving her a light load, but she was not exempt from duties. Her personality was fickle, and either she botched the mission, made it more of a challenge for her group, or excelled. One night, I heard Danna shouting from Relee's office. The brigade was on her case, threatening to kick her from legion. His argument was sound, much as I disliked his initial decision. Her performance was erratic and, as it was, could not be depended on for more serious missions. They were testing her with the smaller ones, things they believed she could handle. Danna lashed out that she only fucked them up because they were so easy, that she needed a mission to take seriously. Shan explained that they had given her liberties, time to recover without demanding to know what happened, and that she had no right to react this way. She was still a soldier, and every mission was a credit to her ability. He said the magic words then. How can you expect to excel as a gladiator when you tarnish your record? Her tone changed, became more sorrowful that perhaps she was crying in front of them. The determination was still there, however, as she demanded more serious missions. Relee gave in, and she walked out with a scroll in hand with her new orders. She performed it perfectly. And the next one. Now that they were watching her, measuring her skill, she was acting like her old self. On the field, at least. Back in our room, she was exhausted and once again this new, cold shell.

Going to deliver my report one evening, I heard the centurions having a meeting. Relee, Shan, Yan the sorcerer who spelled me when I couldn't sleep, all of them were gathered and speaking softly, debating over Danna and her performance since she returned. One said she was getting exciting reports from other brigades, that she impressed or carried her teams to success. Another, the spirit master, said she was still broken and should not be appraised until she fixed herself. Shan suggested she had been taken prisoner and raped, considering the mental damage and hardly any physical. A whole month of torture without a cleric would have left scars. The spirit master was still not convinced. The centurions bickered back and forth over her worth, whether it was in her best interest and that of Bloodwings to ask Sanctum to test her. Relee spoke up, saying it was obviously what she wanted, and she had performed well on her latest excursions. He was confident she would not disappoint. Yan was the first to step out of the office, and he smiled when he saw me, ruffled my hair a bit and walked off. After I gave my report, Relee asked me direct if I had been listening. I told him I had overheard the end of the conversation. The assassin told me to keep quiet about it, though he had about as close to a smile as I've seen him give. I could hardly sleep, so excited for Danna that she was finally getting recognition.

My next mission scroll was the same as Danna's. When he handed it to me, Relee leveled me with a hard eye and said I was to pay close attention to her and put aside my friendship as I judged whether he was making the right decision. It felt so good. I was so happy then, like a little star was burning in my heart and making my whole body warm. We were paired up with another legion, four members of Star Fissure, and as I examined their legion capes I saw the extent of what Relee did. They were all around my military rank, recently raised to elite status or soon to go through appraisal. He had set up a pre-trial before Sanctum summoned her. The excitement was hard to contain, I was sure she knew something was up. I was still a blind fool, though. Danna was professional, sure, but she did not reflect my enthusiasm nor any joy we were together. She was more broken than I had realized. I thought she figured it out when she asked me what it was like being an officer. I told her that my orders as they were now hadn't really changed, but it was an honor to know I was trusted with the more delicate ones. She nodded her dark head and went to sleep. Our second and third days in the field came and went; I don't recall much of them. The fourth day is when everything fell apart, my little fantasy that everything would work out, and if it had not twisted already, here is where my nightmare began. We had encountered Asmodians before, cut them down without too much trouble, but this time, it was Asmodians we knew. More specifically, it was Saev. He shouted that the gladiator was his, and his group focused on my spirit master. Saev charged at the two of us as I was preparing to heal both Danna and the caster. It happened so fast, even now I'm stunned in confusion. Danna was no longer in front of me, but behind, one gauntleted arm around my neck and the other around my waist, pinning my arms. I didn't fight. How could I? I was caught off guard and no understanding was to be had. Star Fissure called for heals, but their cries were not long winded. The last I heard was Saev's dark voice saying, Come home, and a fist connected with the back of my skull, the sharp pain being followed by blackness.


	13. Exile

* * *

_"Unfaltering conscience, life of hope and tragedy. Do you see darkness in your reflection?"_

* * *

When I awoke, it was to strange Elyos at one of the outposts. Yan was there thanking the party that rescued me. Apparently, the Asmodians had tried to take me to Silentera, but when the Elyos found them, they put traps by me instead. The assassins disabled the traps and a cleric stayed back to take care of me while the rest pursued. Yan asked about Danna, and despair took a firm hold of my heart. He sat quietly while I cried a river of tears I could not dam. There really are no words for how deep that despair was - even now it threatens to choke me. Looking back, I see that she was lost to me before that day. Her elopement was simply the realization that she was no longer my friend, more so a betrayal that she endangered our team and myself. I never gave Yan the answer. He knew later, but not from my mouth.

The four from Star Fissure returned, eyes fixed on me. It was such a mess - I didn't know what to say. I had to say something, though, some reason why I didn't heal them, why Danna was gone. They asked if we could finish the mission, to which I nodded and tried to pull myself together, but Yan stepped in saying this event needed to be brought to Brigade General Relee's attention sooner rather than later. Replacements were found, and Star Fissure resumed their mission. I was still a mess, moreso now that I thought of Relee. Yan must have spelled me because I woke up in my bed, still armored but tucked in. Understanding of where I was did not help since I knew that the bed across from me would never be hers again.

I woke and slept repeatedly, escaping from reality however long I could. Yan was sitting beside my bed some of those times, reading a tome or asleep himself. When I couldn't get myself to sleep right away, I asked him to spell me, but he refused. I begged, but the only response I got was how I shouldn't let myself be so cowardly. I broke down, my chest wanting to cave in from despair. Yan stroked my hair and held my hand, and I shamefully wanted him to cradle me in his arms for the illusion of protection. My chantress friend Ama came to help me clean up, removing my armor and taking me to the bath just like Danna did so long ago. Her smile was forced and there was no musical lilt to her voice. After I was clean, my legs began to shake terribly. I was so terrified to see Relee. Fortune was that he was recently away, caught up in some mission that Yan was the presiding centurion, and he was far less formal and insistent than the assassin.

Three days went by, but Relee, Shan and the others were still out of reach, hunting some high rank Asmodians in Gelkmaros. Often, he would pause by me, and I knew he wanted to ask, but the words were never spoken aloud. If he would not voice it, I wouldn't either. I just sat in a daze and watched the world go by that not even Pilomemnes' package cheered me up, asking me to return the relics after I showed them to Danna. Crying exhausted me to the point of sleep, which helped escape for a little while. I woke up once to my friends grabbing me by the arms. I say woke up because that's where my memory of that scene begins, but I was conscious enough to be destroying the room. The beds were obliterated, my mace lodged in one of the dressers, the mirror a broken thing like Atreia itself. Yan was summoned as if he knew what to do with me then, and I felt so ashamed. He had everyone follow him out and shut the door, leaving me alone with my destruction.

Yan eventually asked me to help him investigate a suspected rift entrance into Ingisson. I knew it was more than that - Relee and the others were still over in Gelkmaros and Yan had to glean something about Danna's betrayal since it was clearly affecting me. A full group should have been sent to locate the entrance buried in a place like the Forest of Antiquity, but it was just the two of us. It took the better half of a day to get there, even with teleporters and wind streams. It took even longer for Yan to finally break the silence, as we both knew he wanted to. He asked what happened. I said she left for good. He got angry with me instantly, shouting that he knew that, but _why!_ Why would an Elyos run off with Asmodians without prior warning? He knew I was involved somehow - the two of us were too close and any signs that could possibly be related included me. Terrible liar that I am, I just stood there mute rather than try to fool him. He put his hands on my shoulders and asked why, if I knew nothing, would they have tried to take me. I answered him true: I didn't know. He said my name, a word filled with frustration and kindness. I begged him to stop asking as I felt the tears threaten my eyes. I have to tell Relee something, was his response. I know, was mine. I promised him I would confide to the brigade general. Yan was unhappy with that, saying he was the acting brigade until the assassin returned. He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and I saw his eyes move to the corundum earring there, and then to my necklace, perhaps noting the plain charm I wore since I lost the Age pendant. The wheels were turning in his head and I could see them working - he is an intelligent daeva and I was so frightened by what he would say next, I begged him to drop the subject, offering anything he wanted if I could just wait for Relee. The sorcerer smirked and gave me a sad look. Anything? he questioned jokingly, albeit serious in my mental state, anything being what any intact male would assume meant sex. The tears broke with a sniffle as I clumsily started to undo the fastenings of my hauberk. Firm hands clasped mine, stopped them, and pulled me in to a tight hug. He said that while it went against common sense to turn away a woman offering to strip, it was unprofessional and definitely not what he wanted from me, especially when I was emotionally distressed about trying to control a secret that is obviously bigger than myself. He promised he would never mention my bribe to Bloodwings in the hopes that protecting my reputation would earn him a bit of honesty. Until then, however, my military rank was dropped back to a regular soldier and all privileges were suspended. I nodded in consent, not that it would have mattered. My rank will never be restored.

Kveer and Yan's grypho had been nosing the dirt and wrestling out of boredom, but their feathers stood up and they squawked in alarm. It was too late - we were unprepared mentally and physically. Yan recognized the general before I did, spitting his name, to which my body went numb and the assassin smiled in recognition. Two Asmodians were restraining Yan, a familiar knife at my own throat as I was embraced by dark arms. Sirrus leaned in to laugh in my ear, saying he caught himself a magpie. We were thrown to the ground, hands bound behind our backs and our weapons taken from us. I've been thinking about you; the words you never want to hear from an enemy's mouth. My pendant, the beautiful metal worked around a corundum gem, hung around his neck, His claws fondled it as he eyed me. Tell me, little bird, who made the necklace? he asked me in Asmoth. My answer was a spit in his general direction, reposted with a kick to the gut from one of the other captors. Claws gripped my hair and pulled up so that Sirrus' twisted face was much too close to mine as he asked again. He switched to Elyan, warping the sounds but my mother tongue all the same. Sirrus claimed my sorcerer friend shouldn't be excluded from conversation. I told him he wouldn't get whatever it was he wanted from me, and the great general laughed. Drop the lies, and I hit the ground. The assassin squatted down beside me and said words I had almost forgotten. As the krall cries. What came after that, he asked me, repeating those four words. As the krall cries.

Yan was thoroughly confused watching the interaction. He shouted at Sirrus, saying I was nothing more than a soldier and the general was interrogating the wrong Elyos. Sirrus the Sadist chuckled and informed Yan I was more than a simple soldier. As he said this, his claws were toying with the opened clasps of my hauberk and the exposed skin. A quick knife tip drew a rune on my bare skin, and the figure burned. I wanted so badly to whimper and squirm, but I held as still as I could and focused on my breathing. Sirrus switched his attention to Yan, drawing the same rune on the sorcerer’s arm, then the next one, and the third rune in the sequence. Yan squirmed, grunted, panted as he tried to handle the carvings that burned him. With a word, the runes burst and Yan cried out in pain. Sirrus chuckled and began carving the sequence again. He kept doing this while my one rune carving burned. I heard myself say the response, repeat it louder and faster until he heard me. The mau whispers, the mau whispers, the mau whispers! Yan's wounds were superficial, a fact which scared me because it meant he would suffer but not die. Sirrus was saving him. The devil blocked my centurion from view as he smiled at me, a genuine smile that was all the more terrifying. Good little bird, he called me. He considered my face, appraised me like an object and once again said something to surprise me. He could understand why the spirit master fell for me, claiming I had a pre-Cataclysm, old-daevic look. He laughed again, delighting in my terror that he knew about the Age and Voltaic. He took the pendant off and dangled it before my face. Yan's eyes looked past the pendant to stare at me, surprise and hurt clear on his face.

The sadist traced over the rune in my flesh, renewing it so that it would continue to burn. He asked if I would offer the same deal, sex as a bribe to delay questioning and asked rhetorically how long I would last before I begged the opposite. Sirrus pretended to be hurt when I didn't respond, asking why I was giving him the silent treatment. The smirk wasn't far behind as he decided he liked the quiet ones - they're screams were far sweeter in the end to a sadist. One of the other Asmodians held me so I could watch as Sirrus began to torture Yan again, using poisons and runes and terror to maximum effect without killing the sorcerer. I couldn't help but watch - my restrainer made sure of that. The whole time I wished it was me, which is exactly what he wanted. A cleric is a cleric because they care about others. What better way to torture them than to torture someone else? My fingers itched to work the aether to heal him, an instinct I fought because it would keep Yan a prisoner. It wasn't long before my centurion was crying in pain, and I was crying with him. Hours of watching it broke me. The one holding me began talking to Sirrus, asking what was to become of us Elyos once the interrogation was over. Sirrus told him I was to be kept alive, but my condition did not matter. Switching easily between the two languages, I was informed his brother Achenar had a reputation as well, so much that even the Asmodian women stayed away from him. Yan couldn't control his screams anymore that I found myself pleading for them to let him go, for all of it to stop. Yan grew more quiet as Sirrus stopped to focus on me, but I didn't notice. I just cried and pleaded. How many of you are there, the victor asked. And I answered, just me. I'm the only Elyos left. The general had a huge grin on his face, and it wasn't until I saw Yan staring at me that I figured it out. I had been pleading in Asmoth, and responded in Asmoth. How pretty the bird sings, he told Yan. Shame was perhaps my strongest emotion at that moment.

Sirrus toyed with his daggers. I asked what he wanted from me. My captor had released me, and the assassin I was most concerned with disappeared before my eyes, suddenly behind me in a familiar embrace, the way he held me back in Gelkmaros with a dagger tight on my neck. You denied me last time, he said. It was very rude of you to kill yourself. I want to finish that fight. My bonds were cut and he stepped away in the manner that a mau promises its prey freedom. I hesitated and he motioned to my shield and mace, encouraging me to arm myself. Yan begged my name, confusion outweighing the pain and betrayal and it tore me apart to see him as he was. Clothes burnt, cut and torn; skin blackened, covered in old and new blood. Apologies fell from my lips, telling him I never meant for this to happen, didn't know something like this would result, for dragging him in. I was sorry then, and I'm sorry now, but I at least did what I believed was right. Sirrus shouted at me, ambushed again and quickly carved a rune on my still exposed skin. I fought weakly, my blocks slow and strikes poorly aimed. His blades poked at me just to prove I was useless on my own, utterly destroying my legion cape as I bled the aether of a daeva. In provocation, he threw the Age pendant on the ground and said it was mine if I could beat him. I am a cleric and untrained in using anger to fuel my fights, but I tried. I swung as a feint, shield bashing him before casting a spell. A magical shield encased me that I could be pure offense, locking against him to trade blows. His grin made me angrier. He said something, but I can't recall, only that it made me scream in frustration. It was a losing battle - he was simply toying with me before his brother did whatever he intended, and I had no say in the matter. There was one thing I could control, however. I began chanting my most powerful spell and threw it at Yan, killing him instantly. Sirrus screamed and ignited the runes still carved in my flesh. I took my victory, though, sending Yan back to Ingisson Fortress and far away from Sirrus the Sadist. If he wanted me, it was only me. No one else. Not hard to believe how furious he was - he hurt me so badly, but my screams were mixed with weak laughter that I once again denied him some small thing, was victorious in some small way. A fist to my jaw knocked me out cold.


	14. Songbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Rape

* * *

**** _"No matter if it is a broken heart or a broken sword... Things only have the power that you give them."_

* * *

I awoke in a prison somewhere in Gelkmaros. My armor was gone, my clothes filthy and cuts covering my body. The first rune that he had carved was permanent now since I had never healed it the aetheric way. My hands were bound with special manacles that I could not fight, return, or heal myself. Not like I would have - they would just give me fresh wounds and home was an unwelcome thought. A ranger saw I was awake and went off to inform whoever. She came back with a platter of food and a flagon of water, sliding them to me under the door. Her face was sad, and she refused to meet my eyes. My guard neither hated nor loved me, offering her silent pity from outside my cell. Sirrus came to torture me every night in retaliation for freeing Yan. Achenar would rape me after. They wanted nothing more than to hear my screams - there was no information I could give them that I had not already. Whoever Sirrus reported to had been hopeful based on my legion cape, questioning me themselves. It was clear I was broken in all the ways the Asmodians didn't want, and resolute in all the ways they wanted me broken. I didn't fight the torture, or the rape, never healed my wounds when they ordered me to that they had to wait for my body to do so before anything else could be done. Whenever they entered the room, I simply thought back to my bedroom with the broken mirror, an analogy to myself because there really was no way for the glass to still be holding together.

It really must say something when a sadist grows tired of you. He stopped letting Achenar visit, using the whole night to cause pain in the smallest ways, always careful not to kill me. He would often remind me he had the corundum earring and hairpin, but there was nothing I could offer him, no real information. I said I could make something up, lie, but he simply backhanded me and said I was in no position to mock him. Looking back, he must have believed me to be of real use. A cleric running around Gelkmaros with elites, sporting a Bloodwings cape and speaking Asmoth. Had he waited another century or so, perhaps I would have held more valuable information, but my cube carried the usual potions and scrolls, a small kisk, stale food, sour drink, my journals and the metal pieces from Pilomemnes. One night, he came to visit, unlocked my shackles, and read a book. No torture or questioning, just read quietly for hours before locking me back up. I asked why he didn't torture me, as surely a sadist wants to, and all I got was that he didn't feel like it that day. This happened several nights in a row. He stopped visiting me for some length of time - how long, I'm not sure. The ranger guard fed me, watched me do nothing but breathe, eat, and relieve myself. She was the only one, really, because the others stopped visiting. I took to singing old Elyan tunes, translating them to Asmoth to see if the tune would still work.

Those days gave me a lot of time to think. Reflection leads to answers that were hidden at the time, and I see now that, maybe, Sirrus was trying to learn who I was, gain my trust. It would certainly explain his later behavior. When I didn't think about my captor, my thoughts would turn to all of my friends, wonder if they knew where I was, worried about me, if they believed me to be a traitor. I am, to a small extent, but not in the way Elyos would assume. I was, and still am, looking for an answer that might only be found with Asmodian cooperation. It was the Asmodians who brought their quest to me, who initiated the truce. I never delivered serious information. I was not spying on my own people. It really depended on what Yan told the others, as well as what they assumed they knew about me. Ironic, the daevas who know me best, D'ni and Danna, were not in a position to defend me, and probably didn't even know where I was.

The ranger, Yeesha as I later discovered her name, took me to bathe once. Sirrus visited that night, just sat across from me and asked, honestly, what I wanted, what I could offer. I told him nothing. There was nothing he would give me in return for what I had to offer, which was also nothing. He asked me to sing for him, to which I said simply I might be a songbird, but I was not his. Sirrus asked where I saw myself, what reality was still within my grasp, and I could think of nothing but fantasies that would let me live at home. The general mused on that before asking how I met Voltaic, a harmless enough question. I could see no way the information would hurt anyone, so I answered the truth. Voltaic was the first Asmodian to kill me. In return, I asked what he had done with Voltaic, and to my surprise Sirrus informed me the traitor was locked in a cell in the same complex, awaiting trial and sentence. They could keep killing him until he faded, or imprison him in a crystal in some land I'd never heard of to wait out eternity, which was likely what would happen to me. It was a strange hour, the two of us exchanging normal conversation. He asked when I decided to sleep with the spirit master, and I explained we had kissed a few times but nothing more. That surprised Sirrus, and he looked at me like I was the most curious thing in Balaurea. The next night, he offered me the ear cuff back on the condition I sleep with him. I told him he could do whatever he wanted. He repeated the offer, explaining that I wouldn't just lay there, but take active part. Why did it matter to him, a general whose goal is to destroy Elyos, who could rape or torture me and had simply never chosen the former? Achenar apparently described me as boring, that I don't fight or partake, and he'd already done whatever he could to me that did not endanger my life. Sirrus found it interesting that I broke the way I did, detached from the situation but mentally sound. I was broken before he caught me, before the mirror was truly my reflection. He asked again, and I told him I was no prostitute, and if he really wanted to woe me, he shouldn't be using another man's gifts.

The topic changed, and he again put the question in my mind what options were left to me. Honestly? None. I was an enemy to Asmodians and a traitor to Elyos. My eternity would be punishment from either side. Torturing me would thrill him if I hadn't learned to bite back the screams and endure the pain, but the fact was my pain tolerance had increased since my capture. He threw the earring at me, told me to heal myself, and left. He didn't bother to chain me, knowing well enough that I would not return. Sirrus came back eventually, offering the hairpin if I slept with him. I asked the assassin what his fascination with me was, which led me into a tangent of all the males who had liked me, from my first lover to the gladiator and now Sirrus. Especially as I was then, I should not have been anything remotely attractive to an Asmodian. He told me that it wasn't the fact I was an Elyos female that intrigued him, but that I was an Elyos cleric. He didn't have to explain beyond that - I could see well enough for myself a future as his heal pet, allowing him to torture my kind to no end and without concern they would release to their obelisk. It was simply a bonus that I was female, a little extra play on the side of a sadist's pleasurable business. My willingness to sleep with him was a measure of how far I would compromise. He nodded, saying what a smart little bird I was.

The general had been sitting calmly across from me, sipping a wineskin, but his eyes became wary as I stood up and walked the four steps of the room. I kissed him slow and passionate that his lips did not move, no doubt in surprise as I worked my fingers into his mane. He smelled of freshly oiled leathers and tasted like wine. I got the response I wanted when I bit his neck. Just as he began to return the favor, I turned my head and told him my price was Voltaic's freedom. Sirrus stopped in confusion before the fury came to surface, eyes glowing a bright crimson. I cried out with the first hit, but I regained my composure that I did not scream the second or third time. I was thrown onto my small bed, but all I did was laugh. What could you do with a prisoner who had no information and didn't care what you did? He couldn't kill me - I would just go back to Ingisson, a traitor that he would never capture me again. Insults don't really hurt when you don't know many of them, and they're just words to begin with, but perhaps he felt better. I thought I was safe. Unfortunately, my body had recovered on its own, and fool that I was had healed myself the last little bit thinking he was tired of abusing me, so the torture got me to scream. I broke all over again as he pushed me to the edge of death and kept me there. At the end of that visit, he bit my neck and told me I would be his songbird regardless, it was only a matter of which song I trilled.


	15. Uru

* * *

_"It is a blank slate on which we carve our names."_

* * *

Each night, I was made to sing, whimpering the lower notes and shrieking the high. Sirrus tempted fate by keeping me on the brink of death, and I prayed he would slip and I could release back to Ingisson. I have no idea what Yan did or said, what Relee believed and assumed. My thoughts would turn to them while I waited for my nightmare to continue. Bloodwings would no doubt be trying to recover me, but as a friend, legionary or a traitor? There was no way to ask Sirrus for news. He spoke very little to me. My screams were the only conversation he wanted. Mulling over our interactions, Sirrus's fascination with me is probably from the fact I always seem to deny him something. That first meeting in Gelkmaros, I intruded on his duel with my assassin, and then killed myself before he could do so. I took Yan from him during my capture, and then teased him to thinking I would actually give him my free will over a hairpin. I am far too weak to defeat him, but frustrating a great general when you are a nobody cleric is a proud victory.

One of the other days, Sirrus just watched me in the manner that said he was appraising an object, and informed me that Voltaic's trial would be the next day. I asked if my free will was not enough to buy his freedom. He laughed at me, asking why I cared so much for an Asmodian I had only kissed a handful of times. He might as well have asked why I wore my hair pinned up in back. I just did, it was who I am. Why did Voltaic like me beyond a non-enemy? Sirrus was asking for emotion, for feeling, and I laughed back saying it was probably not within his range of understanding. Eyes flashed red in warning and his playful smirk turned dangerous. The general explained that, once Voltaic was sentenced, my fate would be an eternity sealed in a crystal box with only spriggs for company. He thought out loud with the possibility he would visit me in a century or so, see if I changed my mind and decide that becoming a full traitor was better than living in a box. So I asked, if I did become his little heal pet, what kind of life would I be living? He still had that dangerous smirk as he closed the distance between the two of us, letting his fingers wander over my skin, tracing each scar lovingly. Sirrus' response was that I would be fitted with bracelets that would stop my aether use. No fighting, no returning, no healing unless he wanted me to. Exactly like a little pet, I would live with him, and if he wanted someone to warm his bed, I might do that. He never intended to take a wife, didn't see the use for them, so he promised there would never be anything like love. Depending on how well I behaved, he might torture me from time to time, a little reminder to be a good little songbird. Anything that I wanted; food, books, crafts, a pet of my own; he would get for me so long as I did as he asked. And whenever Pandaemonium captured an Elyos, he would bring me to work and remove my bracelets. I had been staring straight ahead, eyes fixed to the wall, trying to fight the tears of this terrible picture he painted for me, whispered against my skin. The last he said to me was, I do hope you reconsider.

My dream took me to a black marble home, torture devices and the occasional white wings decorating every wall. I ran around trying to find the exit, but the maze won. Bracelets clinked on my wrists and ankles when I tried to return or cast a spell to break a vase, window, door. Something brushed against me and my pet was the most ferocious elroco my mind could imagine. The only room I could find, the one my feet kept bringing me back to, was the bedroom. I picked up a book from the table, scribbles visually but I understood them in that dream way to be written in Asmoth. The book hit the floor when I saw my fingers were claws. Again in the way dreams often go, I was watching myself as I reached behind my back, saw the other me as I discovered the bristles of a mane starting down my spine. Sirrus was there suddenly, and in horror the traitor I was returned his affections, a masochist in his bed. On the wall was one pair of black wings that I knew to be from a spirit master. As my dream self cried out in ecstasy, I woke up crying. I tried killing myself that night, fought against the chains that held my wrists down. I screamed my throat raw and chaffed my wrists until they bled. In the end, I lay limp with all the fight gone from me and tears leaking from my eyes. I repeated over and over that life in a box was better, but, if I was honest with myself, if I never faded… I would eventually accept his offer.

The ranger, Yeesha, opened my cell door. Her shape was a tad darker than the rest of the room and I could feel the pressure of her gaze. I begged her to kill me that I might fade, that I was ready to go back to the aether. As the krall cries, was what she told me as her claws worked at my manacles, opening them to free me. Shock was my first response, then I broke down in tears. She smuggled me out in the darkness, the hand holding mine furry in her mau form. I only recently discovered the extent of what happened, of how Riven and Yeesha knocked out their own guards. She took me to the armory where confiscated items were kept, retrieving my armor and cube. Kveer was likely dead, the ranger said. Riven met up with us, and we three Age broke Voltaic free, myself acting as the distraction that Yeesha could pretend she was on their side. They fell for it as she chased me shouting, the prisoner has escaped! Riven slept one and Yeesha aimed her arrow at the other, the air being cut from his mouth as I rooted. Voltaic was equally in shock, but I assured him it was real, and the four of us tried to find a way out. Riven led the way - there really was no way other than the front door considering I'm Elyos and cannot use their teleport scrolls. We fought our way out as silently as possible to prevent the guards from massing. Even the windspirit knew the delicacy of our situation, silencing its targets with a strike at the throat. The last door was the hardest. Yeesha planted traps, both casters and I readied our aetheric shields, and Voltaic threw spells onto the spirit. It was a combination of a mad dash and fighting tooth and nail, but we all knew that there was no other option. Yeesha and Riven were the wildcards - the Asmodian guards knew who the prisoners were, but the ranger wore their garb and the sorcerer was new entirely. Voltaic was just as weak as I was, but he refused to show exhaustion or mercy as his pet was cut down, summoning in its place a huge beast of flame and earth. My own skills were to root, heal and run with shield and mace strikes on the go. Of the four Age, I was the most obvious target, a white feather on a black bird. I am perhaps the only Elyos to see that part of Gelkmaros, and I hope to never see it again.

When we were somewhere they deemed safe, I hugged each one of them in turn. Yeesha was surprised but accepting of the affection. Voltaic sat beside me all night, holding my hand, stroking my hair, obviously in disbelief. I gave Riven the journal and metal pieces, his eyes glittering as he retrieved from his own cube the rest, and they fit together seamlessly. My dreams were wrong - it was no mace but a sword shaped like a dragon. He kissed the ranger and left us that night saying he needed to have the sword finished. Voltaic joked about how awful I looked, saying he'd never been so happy to see such a mess. Yeesha took me to a nearby stream, planting traps in case the spirit master decided to peek. She is funny like that, not overly fond of me but still protective. She admitted she admired my strength and determination with Sirrus. Voltaic washed up after us, and we enjoyed a quiet meal. I explained to Voltaic what had happened with Danna and how I was captured. His eyes were sad when he saw the scars. I couldn't get them to go away, which was just as well. As Voltaic said, they are a part of my history, and therefore a part of me. In return for my story, Voltaic explained about how the cleric, Esher, informed Sirrus about the Age. It wasn't intentional at first, but he noticed her pendant, and since she was against it all, decided she could eliminate me for good. Sirrus turned on her, obviously, because Voltaic was involved. Esher was, as I found out that night, a former fiancé. Some more traditional families arrange marriages, so they were engaged until I came in to the picture, when Voltaic broke it off. As you can imagine, a cleric from a well-known family lineage was none too pleased to know she lost to an Elyos cleric. So she had tried to get Sirrus to capture me but leave the spirit master alone. Her family must trace back to a Shedim lord or some founding Asmodian considering she was not taken prisoner as well. Yeesha is Riven's wife, and while she did not agree with the Age's existence, she could not ignore the situation. She took first watch that night, leaving Voltaic and I to fall asleep in each other’s arms for the first time. My body wanted to shrink from his touch, but I forced myself to enjoy it, having his arms around me, repeating the whole night how Voltaic was not Achenar, Voltaic was not Sirrus.

And now I do believe I have caught up to the present. Riven came back two days later, sword forged and charged with a balaur life force. He handed me a journal and taught me the Asmoth word Uru. He told me that it meant a blank page or a clean slate, a beginning. My story, he explained, was unique and should be recorded because I will perhaps never have the chance to explain myself to anyone. It is clear I am branded a traitor, but no one will ever know why if I don't leave some proof. I asked him what good a book would do for me, and he insisted that writing my tale would help heal me, and if someone eventually found it, then at least one person would know my story. Riven was right, as I have found he usually is. The damage that Danna and Sirrus inflicted is not gone, but I am more my old self. Voltaic said as much, that I was slowly becoming the Elyos he had fallen in love with, though I am still changed. I would often read to him parts, his favorites being where he was mentioned. I never read aloud what happened with Sirrus. Voltaic chose not to hear it again, only to hold my hand when I tried to write it.

At night, he chases away my fears and hurts with kisses and caressing, blocking the past from my mind. The two casters are best friends, sharing some secret language that our two couples would split when either pair wanted privacy. Voltaic has been patient with me, aware that I had been raped by Achenar, but I know how much he wanted to advance things considering the delicacy of our situation... The first time we shared bodies was a slow process, with him asking permission with every new touch. Afterwards, he asked if I was ok. I assured him I would be, thanked him for being so cautious - the exact opposite of what my body was recently subjected to. I still panic and shirk from male touch if I'm not mentally prepared, a natural reaction, but Voltaic is content with holding my hand if nothing else. Each touch is meaningful, a testament to how much my Asmodian cares. My favorite is when he trails his claws up and down my back because he loves that it's bare, delighting in the fact I am an Elyos. My Asmoth has improved greatly, already noticeable from my captivity considering Sirrus spoke in his natural tongue. There are relatively few times we speak Elyan in camp, proof of my fluency in their language. There are times I wake up full of terror, my dream taking me back to that masochistic self. The others have learned to wake me before I start screaming, but Riven assured me the dreams would stop soon. Of all the ways my eternity could have been spent, of all the options left to me, I am happy it is the option I didn't know existed.


	16. J'nanin

* * *

_"The only thing that is constant is change."_

* * *

Voltaic gave me a new name today: J'nanin, or Jenna for short. I asked what it means, but he wouldn't tell me. Just got that stupid grin on his face that shows he really wants to say but won't. Riven and Yeesha would not translate it for me, either, but they assured me it was a good Asmodian name. With my new identity, I should have a new name - that's what Voltaic believes. If my scars are to be a part of me because they are part of my history, then what is wrong with keeping my Elyos name? Voltaic said I was still Tomahna, but that I am also now J'nanin.

Our time in the Gelkmaros woods obviously can't remain. Riven disappears for days finishing up his research. He said that it was dangerous because Sirrus was looking for all of us, the difference being Sirrus had never seen Riven's face. According to him, though, we would make our move soon. The anticipation does not sit well with me but if I have learned anything, time brings nothing but change. Meeting Voltaic changed my immortal life. For better, for worse? Who is to say, really? This most certainly isn't the perfect love story, but my life had we not known each other, or had we been true enemies… I would not be who I am today. Perhaps I would have dated the gladiator in Bloodwings, or finally had the courage to change my bond with D'ni. Forward, backward, something other than the limbo of romantic interest we share. Maybe someone else would have captured my attention, like Yan. Handsome, talented, flirty, honest, respected. I wish there was a way to thank him, and to apologize. I guess even now I toy with those ifs and maybes. It is a hard thing to learn to think only of what can still be altered.

My body has been upset, and I can't tell if it's because I'm eating new foods, the constant exposure to this other aether or something else entirely. My feathers are coming in darker, the quills tougher. Voltaic has noticed my temper changes abruptly, and I am scared to admit my normal cycles have also stopped. It was a small thought at first, but I find myself panicking as I pause to wonder. I haven't told anyone - silly for them to have the same fears as myself, and I'm certain this is just my mind jumping to conclusions. Our races are different enough, and I have never heard of a child born from both factions. Add to that the stress and abuse I was subject to, it would be absurd…and yet, I find myself visiting this worry repeatedly. My father used to have a phrase: we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. If something has indeed taken root inside me, we'll deal with it when it is for certain. It most certainly wouldn't be Voltaic's, but it would give light to a different future together, one in which we could actually have a family. It is rare enough for two Daeva to have a child. Aion, if this is true, I do not understand.

I got a surprise today, and even now I'm not really sure how I feel. Riven returned to our camp with Saev and Danna in tow, Danna taking an Asmodian named herself, Teria. It hurts more deeply than I thought it would considering all that's happened since her betrayal. We argued, shouted that Saev nearly struck me down and Riven was trying to hush us. Danna claims she was trying to protect me. Saev knew Sirrus was looking for me, had put a bounty on my capture. Who would ever think to look for an Elyos in Asmodian territory? Sound logic, but the fact of the matter is that I knew nothing. She said nothing - the Danna that I saw was cold and kept to herself. Where was the warning or the honesty? Her idea of saving me broke me further, which perhaps saved me in my captivity. I hardly cared for myself that neither rape nor torture hurt my mind. I begged and pleaded for it all to stop, but I never broke in to giving information or helping Sirrus. Danna claims a decent friend would have known what was going on, could see the changes. And now that I look at her, I do see it. Her skin is paler than it used to be, face more angled. Her hair is styled in the Asmodian way, her nails longer, and when we argued, her eyes held an auburn glint. Perhaps it was my imagination. She wasn't wrong when she said Relee didn't realize her worth, that she was unappreciated, but even this new Teria wasn't able to hide her surprise and remorse when I mentioned the centurion meeting.

Our party grew again when the assassin I met so long ago joined us, unfortunately with the cleric that had caused so much trouble. Esher is unwelcome in camp, but even her family name doesn't seem to protect her. Riven said she was being taken into custody since she was the original lead on Age members. My break from prison meant it was more than just Voltaic and me, and who better than I to assure you the general has methods of persuasion?

Riven informed us that he wants to go to Divine. Of all the places to go, Divine! A stupid idea in my opinion - the fortress will be armed to the teeth with Asmodians, and for a handful of wanted Asmodians and two Elyos, one with a bounty for live capture, walking in to an armed zone is one of the _worst_ ideas. The sorcerer was pretty set on it, though. We have no other leads, and even if we do not locate Aion, we would be the first to explore whatever world was through that crystal door. I joked he was forcing us to live up to our name, the Age of Divinity. The only response I got was a mysterious smile. I am not thrilled, but there really aren't many options left. How long can we live in the woods before someone finds us? Eternity is an awfully long time to live like fugitives. I made up my mind when Esher chose against Riven. There is no telling how much time is left, till what? I'm not sure. Most likely a crystal box in some remote land. If there really is no way to go home, and no way to live properly with Asmodians, then I can see no way around being recaptured. My body is shaking so badly, but there is no other way - I won't be known as a traitor. We're going to go straight into Divine Fortress in search of an answer. If we find it, if we don't, hopefully people on both sides of our world will know, this group was something more.


	17. Splintered

* * *

**** _"There is nothing so cruel as an unfinished story."_

* * *

It has been over a year, and my Elyan is still poor. She was so quick to learn Asmoth that I stopped trying to speak in her way. I add this journal entry because… because I can't think of any other way. Riven told her writing could heal, and I need that so badly. This journal is all that I have left, and it has taken me until now to bring myself to write, to finish what she started. Tomahna, J'nanin, white daeva, the girl who captured my attention that day in Eltnen. This was her story, and how I wished it ended differently, penned in her own hand.

I have not been able to read this book - my language skills are so poor, so maybe she already started this. Riven, always in pursuit of knowledge, he wanted to go to Divine. Aion, creator of our world, creator of daevas and drakan alike, the key that Riven believed would reunite our people. Once that man believes in something, it is near impossible to shake it from him. His dream swept me up knowing it had to involve Elyos, and my selfish goal was achieved. I do not regret knowing her, only that I fell in love and had her ripped away by the very means that brought us together.

We prepared all we could without drawing attention from the main cities. Tomahna and Danna - no, Jenna and Teria - they used scrolls to port to Sanctum. It was a risk to pass through major cities, but there was no other way for them to get to the Abyss. Even Teria, her aether was still too Elyan to use our ports. The rest of us ported to Primum Landing as discreetly as we could, and from there to Krotan. While it would have been easier to teleport into Divine, we flew in the long way. Edro hid himself and scouted our own guards while we waited for Jenna and Teria. It was very surprising when I caught sight of them diving through the flight rings, white wings tight against their bodies and others in pursuit. She had run into an old friend at Teminon, the templar I'd met once before, and he stopped her just long enough for a legion mate to spy her. The templar was offering help, but it took the rest of us to battle her centurions. The sorcerer never let up on me. He knew who I was. It broke my heart to see her in that situation, torn between loyalties. Her brigade general wanted to bring her back for questioning. She pleaded with him, crying as she begged him to wait. Jenna promised to go back with him after we rushed Divine, to answer all questions then and accept whatever punishment so long as Bloodwings did not interfere. I was a little surprised when they stayed with us, but the assassin did not look the trusting type. He wanted to be sure that she went back to Sanctum in the end.

We rushed in as a whole, her templar friend charging in first to pick up a caster and throw him into a wall. Saev was right behind him, greatsword swinging. It was a spectacular battle, Elyos and Asmodians working together. Riven led the way to the artifact room. The guards did not realize we were a mixed party, focusing on the Elyos first. Jenna's templar was killed as were most of her legion party. The rest of us made it to the door. Riven, that bastard is always right. By Aion, he had the key. The aether door changed somehow in response to Tiamat’s Sword. Twelve of us got in before the door changed back. I have never firmly believed in fate, but that moment was the closest I ever got. Six Asmodians, six Elyos. Bloodwings was cautious, asking exactly what our aim was since the situation called for cooperation. Esher was livid, of course, but Jenna finally spoke her mind and verbally tore down the other cleric. Esher had no choice but to consent - her arguments against it all were weak, and she had nowhere else to go. The four Elyos I did not know were the assassin, the sorcerer, a templar and a chantress. Praise Aion, all of the Age made it through.

Exploring that cavern took time, mostly out of precaution. There was no telling where we were - some alternate dimension similar to where the famed Stormwing had been imprisoned. It was icy and you could see your breath, but the cavern was warm compared to the truce. Each party set up their own watch, the two sides still distrusting of the other. It didn't matter who was their watch - eyes bored into my back as I cradled Jenna. She woke from one of her usual fits, crying out for fear of Sirrus. It woke nearly everyone. The Elyos would often stare at her scars, something unusual on a daeva, and J'nanin would become self conscious. I pray to Aion that man gets what he deserves, moreso that I will be the one to deal his final hand.

There were some balaur in the frozen place, and our two groups worked together in destroying them. It was perhaps two days before we met Pazuzu. She refused to let us pass. The aether was strange in that place. There was an uncanny similarity between that woman and a Tempest spirit. Riven claims there was a daeva named Pazuzu, one of the original spirit masters who was lost during the Cataclysm. The possibility that this creature might have once been a daeva reinforced his belief we would find Aion in this place. Unfortunately, she would not let us pass, and the Elyos sin's answer was to cut her down. We came across another creature, massive and annoying as shards to kill. It kept trapping us, and half of the group would be running to distract it while the rest of us freed the captive. Its eggs started the hatch, too, so our effort was divided three ways as we fought the beast, killed its spawn and broke the webs. It was certainly not a daeva, perhaps some beast that was caught in the vortex when this dimension was created. Whatever the third huge monster was, it was beyond recognition. At first glance, it was one beast, but it was actually two of the same mind. One was black as Asmodian night and the other white as a newly ascended Elyos, and while they looked similar, there were enough differences to know it was more than coloring. It was near impossible to hurt them, summoning shields for one another. It was only when Saev and the Elyos templar worked together, forcing the beasts into each other's blind spot, that they stopped helping each other. They were still durable, hard to kill, but once they forgot about the other, they were weak. Perhaps us daevas can learn a thing or two from the ebony and ivory monsters.

Our progress was already slow, more so since Riven wanted to inspect nearly everything. There were weapons and shields that he claims had been crafted by the first daevas, but he knew nothing more. He still sat up at night writing in his journal, certain that the answers would show themselves.

The groups mostly kept to themselves, but the sorcerer did seek out J'nanin. She told me she was ok - that they needed to talk. I watched from afar as she broke down crying, and he just sat by her and offered to hold her hand. He returned my first gift to her, the necklace with the corundum set in the middle. I never sensed hostility from him, but after that conversation, it always felt like he respected me, wanting to bridge the gap between us. Riven and the assassin talked sometimes, curt responses about supplies and pace. Edro, young daeva that he is, tried to be friendly with them but unsure how. He is wise enough to have not learned hate through stories, but foolish to think battle hardened Elyos would want to sit and chat. Unlike most assassins, he thinks with his heart more than his blades. Their chantress humored him, and Edro took a liking to her, but their templar made it clear she was to be left alone. Saev and Teria sat apart from everyone - she acted estranged from both parties in her change of loyalty. Looking back, I see that no offer had been made for Teria to make up for her crimes.

We reached the end of the cavern, a huge drop that we had to glide from island to floating island, a swirl of black and white wings that spiraled down to the floor. It was a huge space with glowing pools of solid aether. In his inspection, Riven triggered something, and we feared the whole cavern would collapse. If the creatures we had discovered before were anything to judge by, this one was most certainly not friendly. It screamed something like yamemnes, so that's what I'll call it. Yamemnes had huge wings on its back and a drakan face. Riven suspects that this was one of the dragon lords that we believed to be killed in the Cataclysm, caught in this alternate space and mutated by the concentrated aether. It was one of the longest fights, the Elyos templar taking charge of the fight with Jenna healing him. Their chantress sang, encouraging both sides. Yamemnes cast some spell and doors like the one we entered by appeared. Their assassin and Yeesha were the first to figure it out, rushing to destroy the gates as monsters began pouring in. It took every bit of concentration, and even when we were exhausted, we kept fighting. We eventually killed it, the beast thundering to the ground as Saev drove his great sword through its jaw. Even Riven took a moment before letting his enthusiasm whisk him into inspecting. He cried out in dismay when there really were no answers left. We had found four incredible mutations, creatures immensely powerful that it _had_ to be Aion's power in this place. I don't know what Riven was expecting to find, honestly. For all we know, Aion was there and we simply could not see him, hear him, and that is assuming Aion was ever able to be heard or seen, was ever tangible at all. We all helped, walking around the space and taking samples, extracting aether for study. Jenna called out, saying she found something, and of course we all rushed over to see what was probably the first artifact, a huge weapon embedded in it. Her gentle fingers reached out. The touch of a daeva must have activated it, and in pure light the love of my life was gone. Their templar caught me in an aether cage before I could reach the artifact, preventing me from following her wherever it took her. A thousand deaths could not hurt as much, Riven having to spell me to get me under control. We waited days on end. I could not eat or sleep when I wanted to. Even when I was spelled, I was not rested when I woke up. Esher was the only one who was not sorrowful, but she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut lest ten daevas turned on her. She was the first to leave, to brave the world we knew. Edro went with Saev and Teria as they found a place to live while the aether continued to change the Elyos gladiator. I never did find out what she was doing, but clearly it was working as the gladiator became something between the two races. The Elyos were at a loss - the one they were intent to bring back to the Light Court was gone, and they certainly could not bring one of us without risking our lives.

Their sorcerer took to sitting with me in vigil. Before they left, he said one thing, and it broke both of us. It was true that bright day in Eltnen, the sad day in Heiron, that chance battle in the Abyss and every time I saw her in Balaurea. J'nanin, the one who demonstrated important values. Tomahna, the one who connected me to the other half of the world.

"You really loved her."


	18. Prologue: Myst's Tale

* * *

_"So try as they might, the shackles of your past cannot hold you any longer. Know that the Asmodians know your name. Know that you are one of us. Know that we are one with you. We are kin."_

* * *

The grass began to fade as she got closer to the entrance, a stone archway over large slabs of rock marking the start of the Ishalgan graveyard. Myst paused by the entrance, skin tingling in nervousness as her ears struggled to make out the faintest of noises coming from inside. Eyelids slid shut as the girl took a calming breath, stepping on the first rock as she summoned the courage to enter a place for the dead. The whole place reeked and set her teeth on edge. The ground was nothing more than dirt, rocks and the most stubborn of shrubs. Shapes would move out of the corner of her eyes, but the priestess would see nothing when she turned her head to look.

"This is so stupid," she mumbled under her breath, and even those few words were loud in her ears that she feared the spirits might notice her.

Resisting the urge to look directly at them, pale shapes moved all over the graveyard, the sensation of one touching her sending the girl into a fit, swinging her staff where she believed it to be. Solid air would hit back, bruising and cutting her skin, but Myst kept swinging out of fear. Whether the spirit was defeated or simply left her alone, she didn't care so long as it was gone. Eyes down and praying to Aion that the ghosts here weren't vengeful, she maneuvered slowly towards the larger graves while every fiber of her being screamed to run back to Anturoon. Even when she attempted to turn back, her feet would not move anywhere but forward.

A row came into view, long slabs of white stone to mark wealthier graves. Derot had mentioned them, but could not tell her a specific tomb to raid for this supposed magical cube. Intending to check the first one, Myst found her feet taking her past until she stood beside the third to last. Claws touched the stone and from the corner of her vision she saw a large spirit move towards her threateningly. She cried out in alarm, swinging her staff wildly only to have it stopped dead in the air. Fear encompassed her heart as she stood and waited for the pain, her whole body recoiling when instead she felt a gentle weight atop her head that moved to caress her cheek. The priestess collapsed to the ground, vision blurring as she began to cry and tremors wracking her body. Through the tears, she could make out the pale shape of the spirit, of the folded wings on a bare back as it walked away.

_Daeva….Return to me, white daeva…_

Her eyes opened in a flash, understanding that she had blacked out, propped up against the cold stone of the tomb. The priestess knew she'd had a dream but it was instantly forgotten, a startled bird flown away. After a minute of shivering beside the grave, Myst became a flurry of action, smudging the tears from her eyes and pushing the cover off the tomb. The remains were little more than dust, but her eyes went straight to the hands, seeing there an old box, dirt clinging into the swirls of metal. Small claws plucked it from the grave and she made for Anturoon again, eyes cast down so that she would not look directly at any spirit in an indirect attempt to see them on the path.

The sky was still dark as she reached the plains, the world above glowing and giving light in bursts, a bright and weak world Myst had heard about in stories. A growl from a kirin set her off, but Myst was less fearful of a beast she could see. Only when the torches from the outpost came into view did she let herself relax, meandering to the small campfire to find Derot still awake. His eyes grew bright when he saw her. Money is what warmed his heart, and her approach signaled that she had retrieved something of value.

"Did you get the Cube? Was it a mess or the whole place a bit lifeless?" Derot laughed at his own joke, but she could only give a feeble smile. His eyes fell to the cube in her claws. The Anturoon leader snatched it excitedly, turning it over in inspection. "Looks like a Cube…Feels like a Cube… Can’t find the catch," he mumbled.

"Huh?" she asked, leaning in to try and hear.

"What do you _think _is wrong!" Derot raised his voice, a harsh whisper. "The blasted thing won’t open. Typical, we spend years trying to get hold of the famous charmed cube, and now I can't get what's inside." Anger had turned his dark skin a plum color and his voice reflected as much. The glow of his eyes faded as he chewed his lip in thought. "Maybe the rumors were true. Old folktales say that only daevas can open a charmed cube, and they ain't gonna help a group of thugs like us, are they? …Maybe Munin? He was a real hero among the daevas but some time ago something happened between him and the Shedim lords. Now he spends his days imprisoned in a crystal cell." He went quiet in thought, eyes on the cube but not really looking at it. "What you need to do is approach him, and persuade him to help us. He can't touch you from inside his cell, but he might frighten you."

_Munin_. The name struck her with familiarity. There was an old witch near Aldelle Village, impossibly old and kept mostly to herself, but Myst had the unfortunate circumstance lead her close to the cottage years ago. Derot's mention of this daeva had recalled that long ago meeting, of a young Myst holding her father's claw with her whole hand, of how the witch was speaking to her rather than Gehn. _Something other than mere chance brought you here. Give me your hand. Greater things are going on in this world than you can possibly comprehend. As we speak, winged immortals are warring above our very heads. I believe you may be involved somehow._ _If you wish to learn more of your future, then you should speak to a Daeva. One such creature exists nearby, imprisoned in a crystal cell. His name is Munin and you are destined to meet him_. Gehn had grown furious, cautioning the old woman to stay far away from his daughter. Myst had forgotten until the mention of the imprisoned daeva. Surely this wasn't chance?

"I don't…" But she couldn't bring herself to say it. She didn't want to go back, but she didn't want to look weak. Not to Derot. He was the only one who treated her like a real raider - the others kept their distance because she was so different, even when she was little. Myst's skin was a warmer color than any other Asmodian, and she loved the dawn, the brightest part of Asmodae's day. Derot didn't care about any of that, though. _If you want to make it as a raider_, he'd told her, _you need to display loyalty, grit, and ability_. And she had done that many times over with his treasure hunts.

"I would myself, but I can't leave this post. Those in charge have less freedom. So, will you go see Munin?" Derot's midnight eyes were on hers, questioning and hopeful with the firelight reflected in them. She nodded, a small concession that earned a large smile from him and a hot piece of meat. "Eat up. Can't have you starving. Only Aion knows how they feed everyone back at the village."

It was easier to enter a second time, knowing the trick of watching for spirits out of the corner of her eyes, knowing how to resist the urge to look directly at anything she thought she saw. It had been a challenge against the weak dusk light, but the path was straight forward, taking her past the row of tombs to an alcove tucked away at the furthest end of the graveyard. Even the spirits were less keen to meander close to those grounds.

It was not long until crystalline eyes settled upon a man encased in a crystal. _No, not a man, a daeva_. He was nothing unusual to look at, no visible differences between this being and any other man she had seen. His white hair was long and unkempt, leading into a pale mane down his spine, and his claws were long and sharp. What made her skin crawl was the crystal he was encased in. The walls were both glassy and bright light, solid but living energy that kept him in place while insects could pass through without issue. Myst could not explain it, but the sight of his prison set her teeth on edge.

"So it was you making all the commotion." Myst's eyes met those of the daeva, fear creeping up her spine and along her skin, instincts telling her to run and run far. "Not many people are brave or stupid enough to enter the prison, and with good reason," the prisoner continued.

"I came to ask if you could help me open this box," and she held up the Cube for him to see the tarnished metal.

"I am Munin, and you are a thief," he declared, sneering down his nose at her.

"I am no thief," Myst found her voice weak and resolve fading steadily. "Why should the dead care about material possessions? They're of no use to them anymore."

"You think that just because they are dead means they have stopping caring about what is theirs?" The girl had no answer. "Answer me, why should I help you, someone who steals from the dead and bears an ancient device you cannot begin to comprehend."

Embarrassment flushed her face. "I have no answer," she heard herself respond. "The dead are clearly still here, and want what is theirs."

Dark eyes appraised her, the weight of his gaze felt even when she glanced away. "You are different than the others," and Myst's face flushed with self-consciousness. "You have a flicker of potential, so I offer you a test. You're still alive, after all."

"…What kind of test? Why do you want to test me?" the girl asked cautiously.

"I have seen something different in you, child. You may already have your suspicions, but now it's time to uncover the truth. The _truth_!" His eyes glittered with vitality as he spoke to her, his hands moving excitedly as he spoke. "Your future is a path ahead of you. You can meander along the path's branches but your ultimate destination is set. Whether you are ready or not, I must show you that destination. But beware, some cannot handle a truth so wondrous and terrifying. We shall see. Let me be clear about the stakes. I believe you will ascend beyond mortality, beyond death itself." Blunt words caught her off guard, and the girl was no longer sure what to think of this strange being. "I believe you will soon become a daeva. But I sense something else. Your eyes show fire. A fire I haven't seen for years. That fire reminds of another pair of eyes... a pair of eyes gazing back at me from within churning waters as the fiery remnants of the Tower of Eternity drifted away from our planet."

She blinked in surprise, his words once again startling her. "You saw the Cataclysm?"

"Yes, I was there when the tower was destroyed and Atreia torn asunder. I watched my friends and family scream in terror as our world was ripped apart. Something knocked me out, when I awoke, I was face down in the lake. That's when I saw eyes like yours, under the surface of the lake. But enough of my past. Let us see what is yet to come.” Munin’s gaze pierced her soul, setting her teeth on edge as he appraised her. “First, I need three cards of fate from longtime allies. They live secret lives among the raiders and cutthroats of Ishalgen. Each remains loyal and will surrender a card of fate if you mention my name."

The girl shifted weight from one foot to the other, claws digging into her staff out of nervousness. Her eyes kept staring at the crystal rather than the blue-skinned immortal inside it. His words were loaded with promise and incredible stories, something she had learned long ago to be wary of, but something inside her whispered… _trust him_. "Where must I go?"

"First you must call on Urd in Aldelle village. She was the first to discover where I'd been imprisoned after my transgression. Urd carries the card that will show you your past - the first step towards your full revelation. Next, enter Munihele forest and visit Verdandi. Her behavior is strange indeed. Speak to her and she'll hand you a card depicting your present circumstances. Finally head to the cliffs near Anturoon Crossing. You should find a lone girl there named Skuld. She holds the card of your future. Once you have all three cards, return to me and we'll read them."

She knew Urd as well as any other raider - the woman was impossibly old and had a temper to anyone that did not cater to the elderly. Urd peered up through thick glasses, a sour look on her face as she recognized Myst. "Have you come to pay your respects with empty words? When you left camp last time, I assumed you were off to _bigger _and _better _things and we'd never see you again. Did you find the big _bad _world too rough and tumble, hm?"

"Hardly," Myst quipped back, unappreciative of the demeaning words. "I was sent by Munin."

"Munin… he knows I'm here?" She spoke cautiously, putting down the leather and needle, dusting off her clothes before folding her arms and peering at the priestess. "I know I'd fooled the raiders I was just an old tailor, I should have known Munin had sensed my presence. But Munin's will is also mine. And if he is sending you for a card, it is clear he sees something in you I cannot,” she said, her words begrudging. “Come here, close your eyes, and let us delve into your past." The woman stepped closer and placed a palm lightly on either side of Myst's head, her eyes closed and brow furrowed in deep thought.

"What do you see?" Myst dared ask, unsure how long to remain like that.

"I see a black bird, like those who fly over Aldelle Basin, rising from a field of rocks and thorny vines. Curious, though, it is not entirely black. Here is the card," and the tailor reached into her apron, procuring a blank card. Her fingers held it tightly until a design began to develop, ink appearing out of nowhere as the blotches settled into strokes and details. "The bird is now inscribed on it, and the card will guide Munin as he shows you the future. You'll need two more cards. I expect you have to travel to Munihele forest to Verdandi. She may be somewhat difficult. Good luck." The tailor snickered as she returned to her work, eyes focused on the leather as she stitched.

_This is ridiculous_, Myst thought, stepping out of the shop onto the main road and feeling like she was a thing dusted off of someone else's hands. She studied the card from the woman, of the black bird flying out of rocks. There were indeed white feathers on the bird, something the priestess dismissed when she noticed the rocks also seemed to be white, almost transparent. _Must be the ink_, she mused.

A soldier patrolling the road saw her and nodded, a smile on his face. He was one of the only raiders who respected her oddities, like keeping her face plain of permanent ink, something hardly any Asmodians did. Myst couldn't bring herself to return the smile in earnestness, mind so mixed up with everything she was being told. Verdandi was the old witch in Munihele Forest, the one she had spoken to as a little girl. Abrasive personality, to say the least. She watched as the soldier passed, claws playing along her weapon in internal debate. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Myst followed the road to the forest.

The cottage sat tucked against a thicket of trees, hidden from view if you did not know to look for it. Myst had a strong memory even as a young girl and knew the path despite having been there only once prior in search of her friend Rae. After her father's warnings, Myst never came through this part of the forest again. The old woman hobbled out of the cottage, somehow alerted to the girl's presence outside. She was exactly as the priestess remembered her - hunched over with white hair in twin buns and a twisted cane clutched in dull blue claws. "Why have you come here? I would sooner bathe in _bellepig _swill than spend a moment in your _odios _company. Depart or I'll turn you into a ribbit!" the witch threatened in a scratchy voice.

_Charming_, Myst thought to herself, still with half a mind to go home and forget all about what the daeva said. "Munin sent me to retrieve a card."

"Lord Munin? He sent you for a card of fate? My perfect disguise has finally slipped." The crone stood a bit taller, her shaking less evident as she peered curiously at the girl before her. Her whole demeanor had changed from being unwelcoming to being far too keen. "I suppose it's fitting the one who saw my true form was the very man I came to aid. What he sees in you is beyond me, but he wouldn't waste his breath bantering with a mere raider. So let’s see if I can catch a glimpse. Give me your hand."

An old hand asked for hers, but Myst wanted nothing less than to touch the woman. The witch snatched her tiny clawed hand, pulling it towards her that she could eye the palm. A strange sensation spread from her hand and Myst's whole body began to tingle. Her vision blurred, the forest's pink and green trees morphing into fire and rock, and she saw soldiers approach her with familiarity, of plain and tattooed faces alike. Myst watched as this other self of hers, clad in gleaming chain mail, jumped off the cliff and sprouted wings black as night. The tingle subsided, and the trees were back. Crystal eyes squeezed shut and opened to find the woman's wrinkled face clear and far too close.

"Your hand tells the tale of an eventful life, laced with both hope and tragedy. This line here is your conscience, fine and unfaltering. This line is your life, and look, it is hard to determine where it begins, and it seems to stop suddenly, then branch into the rest of your palm. Never seen anything like it."

The woman let go of her palm and hobbled back into the cottage. Myst heard cabinets creaking and pots being moved before the thud of the cane signaled Verdandi's return. "I have just the card. Take it to Munin along with the one from Urd, but claim your final card. Talk to Skuld. You can find her by the cliffs. She is the one who is always watching for storms." She placed in Myst's hand an old card, the picture of an old ship that faded into white clouds.

Myst found the coast, could hear the roar of the water beyond the cliff. A lone figure stood at the very edge, hair and clothing whipping with the wind as she let it caress her face. A crunch under Myst's boot and the woman opened her eyes and turned, seizing the young priestess with impossibly blue eyes.

"The tides are shifting…” her voice came airily, “the sea breeze feels heavy against my face. The storm approaches. Once this storm passes, our world will be vastly different. Breathe it in. Breathe in this vibrancy, this life you know. It will not last forever."

"But a storm is just a storm."

The storm-watcher angled herself to face Myst, unflinching as her hair and clothing continued to dance with the wind. "Outward appearance should not limit your perception. Some people appear more intelligent than they are... and some, less intelligent. You would do well to perceive others more deeply before you cast judgment on them." Skuld turned her attention back to the horizon. "I can feel a change in the air. A storm is coming. Can you feel the breeze on your face? Do you feel the shifting soil beneath your feet, the cold spray of the rushing tides on your face? If you can, cherish it, because you are truly alive."

"I have never liked the storms because they block the sky. I also don't care for how they change this world, because the things that should change are resilient. Ishalgan will remain after the tempest has passed."

Skuld fully turned her back on the ocean, her gaze bottomless as it focused entirely on Myst, weighing her words carefully. "You are a delicate being in this great world, this world that can take your life from you in an instant. The things you feel now, you feel them because they matter to you. The immortals do not feel so keenly, for the passing years dull their senses. Savor such things, while you still can."

_Enough of this runaround_. "I need a card. Munin said you could help me."

The daeva's name brought a sad smile to her pale lips. "Of course you do, but indulge me, if you please. I can perceive the unseen, but Munin sees far more than I can. I want to know what he sees in you, I want to know why you have been chosen when hundreds, _thousands _of others are ignored. Let me look into your eyes." The woman came closer while the girl stood very still. She took Myst's face in cool hands, gentle but firm as incredibly deep blue eyes peered into her own. _Why must every one of them touch me_, she mused irritably, thankful that the intense gaze into her eyes was brief. "Now I understand, at least dimly. Here is the card that depicts your future," and Skuld searched for a pale card, a dark design blooming on the parchment as she held it before Myst. "If you read the card now, it will make no sense, but when Munin combines its insight with the other two, he will envelope you within a vision of your future. Now go. The tide is rushing in, and I long to be alone with this broken world once more." Skuld turned away from her company, a sad look upon her face as her eyes scanned the horizon for something unknown.

Her heart began to wrench. She had made the trek back from the cliffside to the graveyard without incident, but the cards in her pocket kept pulling her attention, a burning energy against her skin. Even now, they were warm. Crystal eyes looked at the bright purple cage, the panes of living energy as the man behind them stared back. This creature was so different. This was the only daeva she had met, a criminal against his own kind, but the whisper in her heart told her to care for him, to trust him. _The witch said I was to meet him. Maybe there is such a thing as destiny…_

"I see you have returned. Do you have the cards?"

"I do. Before I hand them to you…why are you here and not in Pandaemonium?"

The last word changed his whole demeanor, his face twisting in rage. "Pandaemonium," he mumbled angrily, "how grand your pretensions, how feeble your reality." His eyes were no longer focused on her, but glaring into the past as he sneered.

"Imprisonment has made you bitter," Myst said, beginning to wonder if this being was truly knowledgeable or merely crazy.

"Bitter?" His gaze refocused on her, but the fury did not diminish. "Does that make my words any less true? Pandaemonium is full of graces and airs, murmurs and whispers, betrayal and lies. The Asmodian people shiver from the cold because they've lost the fire within! The older daevas are the worst, for they've forgotten what they fight for. Such weak thinking infuriated me," and Munin sneered down his nose at her. "Eventually my fury reached overly… _sensitive _words. Rather than deal with my complaints, my _truth_, they dealt with me. However, my imprisonment is not your problem. Yet." His face smoothed, eyes narrow and the frown still showing his disdain, but his resentment was no longer directed at her. "We are but small actors in a pageant played out across our sundered world. My task is to help you." Munin put his anger behind him and smiled, a small, sad thing. "Show me the cards."

Myst retrieved the pieces from her cube, the pictures rich and exotic on the faded parchment. She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to go close to the daeva. _What does it hurt_, she thought, and felt a pull in her soul, her feet taking the last few steps towards the crystal cell to pass the cards through the shimmering panes. Munin remained silent, studying the cards intently.

"So the past represented by a black bird, one who rises from mean circumstance…" Munin's voice trailed off as he put his eye close to the card. "How curious…white like a newborn Elyos." He moved to the second card. "The present that faces departure, and a future, a stormy one. Clouds and rain encircle shadows at the heart. Above and below it, the storm cares not. Your life had a rocky beginning, but you rose above such trial and hardship. Your present is impending change, one that will alter you and those you love, and both turbulence and unmatched power herald your future. But that future isn't carved in stone.

"Always remember, history shapes, choice defines. Much like the Asmodian people. Darkness shrouds our lands, and we must scavenge. But we grew strong in spite of, or perhaps because of, our environment. As for you, your environment is about to change. You will become immortal, Myst, perhaps even an archon, and then I foresee your fall. But do not despair. When you are ready, I will grant you a glimpse of what is to come. A battle against a powerful daeva."

"I do not fear the future," the response slipped easily from her mouth, and Myst felt something within her, moving her to speak like a practiced actor in a play. His words thrilled and terrified her, but something greater than herself was at work here, and the priestess knew that there would be no returning to a raider's life in Aldelle Village. Even if she tried, the seed had been planted for her to question her destiny. Her whole life, she had been different, cast aside for warm skin and fascination with the sun. Even when she accepted her eccentricities, the others did not, looking askance when she began pinning her hair in strange fashions and declining the ceremonial face inking when she was of age. All of what made her different suddenly seemed more important. It mattered to her, didn't it? Why else would she have fought against the tide instead of blending in, shouldering the insults of sun lover, pigeon, _Elyos_. Whatever it was residing in her chest, it began to grow, spreading outwards.

"I risk a great deal with my next words." Munin considered her, resolve hardening his face. "One day, I will save your life. I don't yet know the circumstance, but something stirring in my blood tells me that you and I will need each other someday."

"On that day, I will help you," she heard herself deliver the next line of the script, letting the sensation in her heart speak for itself, heart thrumming excitedly in her chest. Myst could not have pulled herself away, rooted to the ground as she spoke with the daeva whose words were full of dangerous promises. A strange sensation began to grow in her chest, a pressure that continued to swell.

His voice filled her ears, his enthusiasm infecting her more with each passing word. "Now it is time to become a daeva. You must choose between two paths, a choice that defines how you will face the future. You are now ready to join the ranks of the ascended. Remember, it is a _gift_. You must swear your very _existence _to protecting the city of Pandaemonium and the Asmodian people. Your time is no longer yours, Myst. Every minute of your waking life will be spent in defense of our people. You will see your family and friends grow old and die. I suggest you start cutting your ties with mortals sooner than later. Time is flying, the dreamers and schemers of Pandaemonium see you. Once they have honored you, you can climb as high as you dare, but beware the archons. They will test you in the most subtle of ways. Leap too soon and you'll fall too far."

A pinpoint of light came to life before her at eye level, expanding into a brilliant gate, and Myst knew it to be of the same living energy as the glass. _Aether, _the word came to mind unbidden. Runes of light floated around the border, archaic letters that she could recognize but made no sense. Munin's dark eyes watched her, nodding to lend her confidence as she reached out a small hand, clutching her staff so tightly in the other that her knuckles were white.

"By the will of Marchutan, Lord of Fate," and Myst let the power within her take control.

The light reacted to her touch, bending in slightly, rippling and expanding to engulf the priestess. To what, she had only begun to discover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I bet most of you weren't expecting this chapter or were unsure of how the story would actually end. This is, however, the very last chapter of this story. Quna and Shera were honest with me in their reviews, and have made me reconsider this ending. Honesty is something I value, and since I myself was not 100% happy with this chapter, have considered a sequel, and will post it when I have something I'm happy with. Age of Myst is in progress but I won’t post it until I am certain I can finish it.
> 
> Secondly, to explain a bit about what you just read. I must credit most of this chapter to NCSoft. I liked the content of the Asmodian start quests enough to use them. The cards of fate really struck me as important and I knew that this is how Tomahna's tale would end. Most of this dialogue is actually from the campaign line with minor additions and adjustments. This chapter took the longest to write mostly because I couldn't decide how much of the game I wanted to use. I pride myself on using original concepts based around existing ideas, but this stemmed strongly from Ishalgan and I worry that perhaps I was too reliant on the story there, especially considering two readers have voiced their displeasure. I took a risk in using so much content when you have probably played the Asmodian side and already know this, but in the end decided that it would help you connect with the story more since it is something you experienced from level 1 to 10.
> 
> A short passage of information regarding names. I mentioned earlier that I was only naming so many characters, splitting up the Ages from MYST. Tomahna was the connecting Age from which you could go to Edanna (nature), Voltaic (energy), Amateria (water and mechanics), J'nanin (principles and learning), Releeshan (a new home), and Narayan (a destroyed world). MYST I was followed by Riven, Exile, Uru and Revelation. I mentioned Yustiel, Empyrean Lord of Healing very early on because Tomahna is a cleric, so I thought it fitting to mention Marchutan at the end because he in the Empyrean Lord of Fate, and is, according to the lore of the game, hailed by Asmodian chanters and clerics.
> 
> Big thanks to everyone who followed this story and a strong salute to those who commented. Comments and constructive criticism are not only welcomed but encouraged, since I know writing can always improve. Let me know what you liked or didn't like. Fly high, daevas.


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